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"You got here just in time, Connor," Jonathan starts to say affably, waving one hand toward Earl. "My son here wants to turn the family company into some kind of unpredictable juggernaut, and I was just telling him that --"
"Unpredictable? What the hell are you talking about, dad?" Earl cuts him short, the arrogance in his voice making me purse my lips. Earl doesn’t respect anyone, and he extends that courtesy even to his own father, it seems. More than an adviser, I think what Earl needs is a good old-fashioned beat down. Sure, that might not be what you expected to hear from a spiritual adviser, but it's the truth.
"Alright, let’s hear it then," I tell the both of them, taking my seat right between them.
"My son was just telling me that we should play the market more aggressively," Jonathan sighs, and I can sense the frustration in his voice. No wonder, after a lifetime wrestling with the financial markets, Jonathan Donovan must be aching to transition into something more lasting and stable. They’ve made their fortune on Wall Street, that’s for sure, but Jonathan has always been at the helm of the company, and he’s pretty level-headed. I can’t say the same about Earl… And, in my opinion, the market will just spit out a brash young man who thinks he knows everything. Arrogance is a death wish when it comes to Wall Street, and that’s a lesson that Earl hasn’t learned yet.
"And my father wants us to stagnate," Earl breathes out, the frustration in his voice even bigger than his father’s.
"To transition into something else doesn’t mean we’re stagnating, Earl," Jonathan tells him patiently, drumming his fingertips on the surface of the large conference table. "I want us to move into shipping and merchant banking, Connor," he now tells me, "and I want to do it as soon as possible. There’s a gap in the market that we can fill, and these areas are a lot easier to work in than Wall Street."
"From what I’ve read from your past financial statements, it seems that the market has been bleeding you dry for the past few months," I start, looking from Earl to Jonathan. I’m being careful enough to not lay the blame at anyone’s feet, but I know that it was Earl placing bold bets on losing companies. No matter how smart he seemed to be at Wharton, the man seems to have no common sense when it comes to playing the market.
"And I believe that the time is right for the Donovans to transition. Just think about it, Earl. More than being a Wall Street player, the Donovan family might extend its reach into untapped markets," I continue and, with every word I say, a vein on Earl’s temple starts throbbing more and more furiously. For such a young guy, he really looks like he’s on the verge of a heart attack. I guess that’s the consequence of having such a nasty temper.
"The matter’s settled then. I wanted to follow this course of action from the very beginning, Connor, but I wanted to hear your thoughts on it first. Your analysis didn’t disappoint," Jonathan tells me with a smile, going up to his feet. He shakes my hand once more and then collects his briefcase from the desk.
"Dad, this isn’t --"
"The matter’s settled," Jonathan repeats, glancing sternly at Earl before walking out of the conference room.
"This is fucking ridiculous!" Earl cries out, slamming his fist down on the table and scattering the documents in front of him. "Why did you side against me, Connor?" He asks me, his furious eyes now trained on me. "Do you want me to fail that badly?"
"It’s nothing like that, Earl," I reply, trying to keep a patient tone. It’s getting harder, though, the more time I spend with Earl, the more I want to introduce him to my fists. Don’t look at me like that; tough love can also be a religious experience. "Listen, you should think of your family as something that needs a sustainable foundation. More than just looking a few years into the future, you have the opportunity to build a strong legacy and --
"Fuck off, Connor. You and your pious bullshit."
"Calm down, Earl. This isn’t --"
"Fuck. Off," he repeats, letting the words roll out from between his lips slowly, malice dripping out of his voice. "You try to pretend you’re this ho
ly guy… But I’ve noticed the way you look at my sister. You want to fuck her, don’t you?"
Alright, just give me the Nobel Peace Prize. I sure as hell deserve it, since I haven’t cracked his skull yet.
"This meeting is over, Earl," I say, looking away from him and getting up. "And whether you like it or not, your father has made a decision. If I were you, I’d spend my time learning from him instead of fighting him. Either way, it’s your choice."
With that, I turn on my heels and leave the office. And just in time because if I had to spend one more minute around Earl, I’d just choke the living daylights out of him.
Yeah, I’m an old-testament kind of guy.
19
Clarise
Yeah, I don’t like being left out.
And that’s exactly why, the moment Connor drove off, I called for one of our executive cars to come and pick me up at the estate. I spent the whole drive to the Donovan business tower fuming, trying to decipher the reason behind me being left out, and I can only think of one thing: Earl. Now, how he got my father to agree with leaving me out of Connor’s first real business meeting with the family is beyond me.
The moment the driver stops in front of the Donovan Tower, I get out of the car in a hurry and make my way toward the elevators. A lot of employees greet me as I rush past them, but I’m so focused on the issue at hand that I don’t even greet them back.
When the elevator doors finally slide open on the top floor of the tower, I head straight toward my father’s office. I don’t even bother knocking; I just stroll inside as if I own the place (which, in a way, I do).
"Why did no one tell me of this meeting?" I ask him as I storm inside the office, looking at my father with what I hope to be an intimidating look. Of course, my father isn’t the kind of guy to be intimidated by anyone. After all, before devoting himself to take the Donovan empire into greater heights, he fought in the First Gulf War.
"Glad to see you too," my father sighs tiredly, leaning back against his chair and drumming his fingertips against the glass surface of the table. "What the hell are you talking about, Clarise?" he then asks me, looking at me with an impatient expression. "You were the one who didn’t bother to show up. As far as I’m aware, my secretary called the house to inform you of this meeting, and she told me that the message had been delivered."
"Oh, that’s rich," I start, already imagining how it’ll feel once I kick Earl’s ass. "Really rich. Because no one told me of the meeting."
