He’s inside. Seated behind his desk in a tailored suit, eyes locked on the phone in front of him. He looks confident. Collected. Even as a slight flicker of irritation washes over his eyes.
Then he looks up. For a second, confusion darkens his features—until there is only surprise settling on his face.
“Iris,” he says as he stands up, my name sounding more like a question.
I clear my throat. “I was working a floor down… and heard you were in.”
He nods, expression blanking. “Okay. Anything you need?”
“Actually, uh… there is,” I say as I step further inside. His office is stark and clean, yet something about it still feels… like him. Pockets of old Levi tucked between the sleek minimalism of his new world. If anything, I’m proud of him.
“I came across something in the archives while researching merger restructuring. And I think… I think you need to see this.”
His jaw tenses, fingers brushing over the stubble on his chin. He gives me a short nod, glancing at his wrist before rounding the desk. “I was just about to take a break. Want to walk down to the cafeteria?”
“Sure.” I follow him down, nerves humming quietly beneath my skin.
I hadn’t planned to talk to him like this. I thought maybe I’d email what I found. Or leave it at his desk. But this felt important. And if I’m honest—I wanted to be the one to tell him. Alone.
Thankfully, the cafeteria is nearly empty. Just a few workers manning the counter.
We settle on one of the tables at the center, side by side. I open my laptop, the screen already pulled up to the three previous mergers I’d flagged.
He studies them for a beat before turning to me. “Okay. Context?”
“Yeah, so…” I nod. “The last three major mergers Astor’s done—in the past forty-one years—have significantly hurt the Astor Capital Funds portfolio. I was trying to find a pattern. Something we could avoid repeating.”
He raises a brow. “Why exactly forty-one years?”
I smile, expecting that question. “That’s when Thomas Astor took over from your grandfather.”
He nods slowly, absorbing that.
I continue before he has to ask. “That pattern led me to think about the clause. Because one of these mergers—the Astor-Sterling deal—was very similar to what’s happening now with Wentworth. Thomas married your mother, Odette Sterling, the second daughter of the family. And the merger followed shortly after.”
He narrows his eyes slightly, not in skepticism but contemplation. “So what are you saying? That this is history repeating itself?”
“Yes,” I say. “But more than that.” I close the laptop and turn to him. “Levi. That merger happened thirty-five years ago. Your father had already been president for six years by then. Which means… I don’t think the clause existed. Not back then.” I wait, letting the implication settle.
I see the moment it registers.
Levi’s lips part, his eyes narrowing, unfocused—like his brain just short-circuited. “I…” He jolts to his feet. “Maybe… maybe they modified the clause for me?”
He’s grasping at something. Anything. Trying to make sense of the chaos probably unraveling in his head.
I rise too, careful not to startle him. “Maybe. Or maybe they just created it for your transition.”
He blinks at me.
I keep going. “I didn’t find anything in the Charles-to-Thomas transition files. Maybe it was hidden. But the likeliest scenario? They introducedthe clause foryou.”
His head shakes again, slow and disbelieving. Then he presses his fist to his forehead. “If they created the clause for me…” he mutters, more to himself than to me, “then… fuck. Wait. Okay.”
Then his gaze finds mine, sharp and rattled. “You said they interfered ten years ago, right?”
I nod.
His expression hardens. The disbelief morphs into something colder. More furious.
