Page 137 of One of Those Amnesia Stories

Mr. Hartley was sitting in my chair. Not in one of the guest chairs facing the desk. In my chair, behind my desk, his fingers steepled on the polished surface as if he’d been holding court for hours. He smiled when he saw me, a cold, satisfied curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Dad, seriously?” Liam’s voice was thick with disgust as he took in the scene.

Mr. Hartley’s smile shifted from me to his son, utterly unperturbed. “This seat is just better for my back. The support is superior. I’m sure Cassian understands.” His eyes slid back to me, cold and testing. “Don’t you, son?”

My teeth ground together at the title—son—a deliberate, venomous claim of paternal authority he had no right to. Then I let a smooth, empty smile settle on my face. “Of course. Make yourself comfortable, Mr. Hartley.”

Liam shook his head, a flush of anger and embarrassment rising on his neck.

“Don’t just keep standing there,” Hartley said, gesturing magnanimously to the two plush guest chairs positioned opposite the desk. His confidence was absolute; this was his boardroom now, and we were merely attendees. “Come. Take a seat.”

We moved. Liam, after a second’s hesitation, dropped into one of the chairs, his posture rigid with suppressed fury.

I remained standing. I placed my hands in my pockets, adopting a casual lean against the side of the bookcase, a few feet from the desk. It was a small rebellion, a refusal to be fully seated before him. I was still the host in this room, even if he was temporarily squatting in my chair. The message was clear: he might have taken the seat, but he didn’t own the ground.

Hartley’s gaze lifted to meet mine, a calculated glint in his eyes. “You’re not going to sit?”

“I prefer to stand. My back is perfectly fine.” I let the statement hang.

One eye twitched, a tiny fissure in the smooth facade, but the smile remained. “Very well.” He clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp in the quiet room. “It’s been too long since the three of us were together. We should get lunch. There’s a new place I’ve been meaning to try. We can discuss business there—”

“I wish we could, Mr. Hartley,” I cut in, my tone politely firm. “But our schedule is packed today.” I made a show of glancing at my watch. “So if you could just state the reason for your visit, we’d appreciate it.”

This time, the smile slipped for a full second before snapping back, tighter and colder. “Such dedication. I admire it. Let’s get straight to it, then.”

He leaned forward, his elbows on my desk.

“I have a proposition that will be immensely beneficial for all of us.” His eyes swept from Liam’s stony face to mine. “We should merge our companies. One unified entity. Stronger together, as they say.”

The room went dead silent. Not a comfortable quiet, but the vacuum after a detonation. The air itself seemed to freeze.

I kept staring at him, my expression giving nothing away.

Even Liam didn’t move, didn’t breathe, his eyes locked on Hartley as if watching a snake coil.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until Hartley’s smile began to strain at the edges.

Then, with no hesitation, no room for negotiation, I said, “No.”

He shook his head, the smile still plastered on his face, now tinged with pity. “Ambition is good, Cassian. But this? This is arrogance. And it was that same arrogance that drove you two to the brink of bankruptcy.” He said it like he was delivering a difficult but necessary truth.

Liam stiffened, his hands curling into tight fists on his knees.

“Almost,” I corrected, my voice devoid of heat. Just a fact. “And we’re still standing.”

“For how long?” Mr. Hartley spread his hands, a gesture of benevolent worry. “You’ve barely survived, Cassian. On grit and luck. Sure, you’re upright right now, but you’re one misstep, one market tremor, one bad hire away from crumbling again. One.”

He leaned forward, his eyes intense.

“I’m here to make sure you survive before you make that mistake. I’m giving you a lifeline before you even need to gasp for air. I’m helping you. You should be grateful.”

He was wrong. Fundamentally, completely wrong. We didn’t need his help, and we certainly didn’t need his lifeline. I knew from bitter experience that Hartley’s lifelines always came with strings attached—and those strings could strangle.

When I had finally returned to work full-time, Liam had laid it all out for me. Real investors—not vultures, not manipulators, but firms who believed in the technology and the restructured vision—had quietly come on board. I’d been so singularly focused on the Aethelstan deal that I’d instructed Rohan to shield me from all other updates. I hadn’t known the foundation was already being rebuilt beneath my feet.

And now we had the Garcias too. A public, prestigious collaboration. We had a name that represented quality and integrity, the antithesis of Hartley’s cutthroat consolidation.

We didn’t need him at all.