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I meet my father’s stare. “I take it that we’re not here to discuss profits and marketing strategy?”
My father claps me on the back. “No, son, we are not.”
We enter the room, and Father closes the door behind us. Desperate to know what this is about, I make my way to the table where my brothers are sitting and pull up the chair beside Malachi.
Edgar Arnoult, Father’s lawyer, is sitting opposite. A stack of papers lie in front of him. Edgar is balder than a newly hatched chick and the fluorescent lights above reflect off his polished scalp. But what he lacks on his head he makes up on his face with thick grey eyebrows and a long, neatly tended beard.
“Now you are all here, I will begin,” my father says, his hands clasped behind his back. He narrows his eyes, his attention on me and my brothers. “There are several upcoming charity events I want you all to pencil into your diaries. Sponsors and shareholders will be in attendance, and as ever I want you all to make a good impression.”
Malachi snorts, his stare burning into me. “Which doesn’t mean turning up to each event with a different girl on your arm.”
I laugh bitterly. “I’m hardly a womaniser.”
“Not according toCornwall Gossipmagazine,” Malachi drawls.
I clench my hands into fists. Two years on my brother still throws that damn article in my face.
“Behind every successful man is an equally strong woman. You’ll do well to remember that,” Father says, his brow furrowing. I know he is thinking of our mother, though he will never admit to the fact.
I clear my throat and pick up the conversation. “Is it really necessary that we all go to the charity events? Gage attended last year, and I the previous. I believe it is Malachi’s turn to—”
“It isn’t common knowledge yet. But I’m retiring,” Father says simply. “So the answer to your question is yes. I require all three of you to attend.”
Retiring?
My eyebrows shoot up. I can’t have heard him correctly.
“Don’t all look so shocked,” Father says, with humour in his voice. “As much as I want to, I can’t go on forever. It’s been fun, but I don’t want to be sat behind a desk my entire life.”
I glance past Malachi to Gage, who in turn glances at me. I can’t help noticing he’s rotating his ring around his middle finger, a habit that serves as yet another reminder that I am the only Calloway brother who isn’t in possession of the family crest.
At four years my senior, Gage is the most rebellious of us brothers. His mousy hair is a little unkempt, the top button of his shirt is undone. It’s as though he takes pleasure in the subtle ‘fuck yous’ to conformity.
Publicly, Gage is the perfect gentleman, but there is so much carnage beneath waiting to be unleashed, I only hope my old man isn’t around to see it when Gage finally snaps.
“I’m going to level with you, sons,” Father says. “I have three businesses, and there are three of you. I want each of you to fly the Calloway flag for one, be it the property chain, hotel, or the up-and-coming cruise liners.”
“Fath—” Gage begins, to which Father cuts him off.
“Regrettably, I can’t have all three of you running the housebuilding chain.”
“This is ridiculous,” Gage snaps. He and Malachi begin to speak amongst themselves.
The housebuilding chain is everything. Gage, myself and Malachi share a passion for the company and the three of us working together have seen profits skyrocket.
“No,” I say, sitting back in the chair.
Father lets out a slight laugh. “No?”
“We’ve demonstrated that we are stronger working together. Splitting us up would be suicide for the company.”
Father takes a few controlled steps closer. “I don’t think you’re hearing me, son. You have one month to decide between yourselves who will run each company. If in that time you cannot decide then you will each come before me and Edgar and present your case as to why you would be the best candidate for the business.”
I drum my fingers on the oak table. All those months of Father suggesting that I run the hotel chain and Gage the cruise liner business makes sense now. He was hoping that with a push in the right direction we would come to the decision ourselves.
“And if we don’t?” Gage asks.
“Then I’m afraid you will all be disinherited, and the companies will be dissolved.”
