“The Mercer Group, at the insistence of new chairman Michael, has decided to implement some restructuring after Magnus retires on January 2 following sixty-five years of hard work and insightful implementation.”
“Okay…” Trystan presses, sitting forward.
“It seems my beloved mother knew about this and wanted to forewarn me, which itself was the first red flag of the many.”
“About…”
“From January 2, after Magnus Mercer retires from the helm, the company structure and shareholdings will be… redistributed in accordance with family lineage and legacy directly from Magnus. Michael will retain fifty percent; Mitchel will have his allocation increased to thirty percent. Nic will retain fifteen percent as the next child in line despite not working in any of the company's stake holdings, nor does she want anything to do with Mercer money. Because she has a son, her stake doesn’t waver.”
“So that leaves?—”
“Yep. They explained that I could approach another stakeholder to raise my holding up to the seven and a half percent I would be theoretically entitled to, before both Mike and Mitch said they wouldn’t budge with any of their allocation. That left Nic, who was more than happy to sign over all of hers to me.”
“Okay, well twenty percent of a multibillion-dollar empire is still a shitload of money. That’s not so bad.”
“Come now, Tryst, did you think it would be that easy? Nic’s share comes with the provision that a maximum of two and a half percent be transferred to me. I’m capped at seven and a half if this deal goes through.”
My mind is racing to compute everything. The calculations, the breakup of a family business that rewards some family and penalizes others. The importance of sons carrying on lines and legacy hasn’t even taken Mason’s future children, should he have them, into account? “How is that fair?”
Mason spins in his chair, the glass pinched between histhumb and forefinger. “It’s not. I’m being set up to be pushed out. Which I don’t think I need to explain the ramifications to either of you.” No, he doesn’t. If he doesn’t have a job, then neither do Trystan or me. Or Helen for that matter. Before I can let the thought sink in, Mason steeples his fingers. “Trys, who is our non-Mercer contact in Barcelona?”
“Come in, Mason, glad you could join us.” Michael doesn’t look up from his paperwork. Mitch sits to his left, so close they’re almost touching.
“It’s a Mercer Group extraordinary meeting. Where else would I be?”
“Well, you could be off doing whatever it is you pretend to do,” Mitch sneers.
“Says the bloke who oversees guys digging in the ground all day. Okay.”
“Gentlemen, that is enough,” Magnus interjects. At almost eighty-two, he’s well past the posturing and preening that goes hand in hand with meetings like this. “Whatever couldn’t wait, Michael, better be worthwhile. We’re meeting for Christmas in two days; it couldn’t wait until then?”
“An extraordinary meeting must take place at a Mercer business property and be witnessed by at least two non-family board members. Do you want them around your Christmas table?”
“Fine, let’s get this moving now that Monica is here. Hello, dear girl.”
“Hey Pop.”Nic makes her way around the table, planting a loud kiss on the old man’s forehead. He visibly lights up in her presence.
“Dad, boys. I’m in the middle of curating over seventy-three pieces for a showing. That may not mean much to you,but it’s my job that I love and am good at. I don’t have time to sit through what should have been an email synopsis. Hurry up. Jesus Christ, this is a pain in the ass.”
“Always lovely to see you too, Monica.” Michael stands, fastening the two buttons on his jacket with practiced fingers as he nods to everyone in the room until he skips me. That’s not unusual; he and I have never had a close relationship. Mitch and him? Totally different story. I figured he already had his heir and a spare, so my existence was superfluous, and as the years went on, that became more and more obvious.
“Let me start by thanking Magnus Mercer for sixty-five years of tireless dedication to the Mercer Group that bears our formidable name. You took over your father’s first printing press and love for broadsheet newspapers and made it your own empire, now a legacy for all of us.”
“Save the retirement speech for retirement. What made you announce an extraordinary? You’ve been pretty cagey with your details, son. I must say, I’m not the only one wondering what the hell is going on here today?”
Michael continues on, unruffled and unperturbed. “As head of Mercer Group, Mitch and I have been working on arestructuring agreement.This is to ensure the family legacy continues along the line and offers our children and grandchildren the best possible lives as Mercers.”
All the air is vacuumed from the room at once. What the fuck? Mitch announced that his new partner was pregnant. Seven months after he divorced his first wife, and almost as efficiently moved her and their two daughters out of his life. None of us have even met the new lucky lady, and here she is pregnant with his third child! For him and Michael to be in cahoots on some clandestine restructure, he must finally be expecting a long-awaited son.
“As of January 2, the Mercer Group shareholdings will beas follows. I, Michael Mercer, will, in line with my position as chairman, have my holdings increased to fifty percent. As my firstborn male, Mitchel Mercer will own thirty percent of the Group, and Monica, as next in line, will preside over fifteen percent of the company. That leaves Mason with a total value of five percent. You may see this as a tad egregious at first, but in time we are sure you will come to understand that Mitch and Monica both have children to prepare for, and the breakdown is fair and just.”
“Fair and just, it’s far from either.”
“Why is Mitch at thirty? Given your own calculations, he should be twenty-five at most.”
“We’ll take limited questions at the end, Mason.” Mitch rolls a pen forward.
“Like fuck you will!” Rage pours out of me like a geyser. Monica’s eyes are still saucer-wide, her face a mask of incredulity, shock, and disgust. “Technically, Mason would be entitled to seven and a half percent given how the entitlements halve as the line goes on,” she states, her furrowed brow focusing on numbers and breakdowns at the same time she’s speaking. “Except for Mitch’s thirty percent though, right?”
