Bastard Boss

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY

Tyler

The offices of Jones, Jackson, and Withers are only a mile from Hawk Legal.

By the time I'm pulling into the parking garage of the building, I have a text message from Bella waiting on me. Michael Sumner is the new CEO, her message reads. And thank you again, Tyler.

It's an impersonal message but everything with Bella feels personal these days, including Michael Sumner threatening Dash's deal. Ironically, and outside the taboo employee situation, Dash is a friend who has known me at my worst. He'd never want me with Bella and most likely we'd come to blows. Because he'd never think me good enough for her and he wouldn't be wrong.

I forward the new studio head's name to Dierk Jordan, who is my fix-it guy. Dierk is ex-special ops, turned CIA. He retired when something he calls "dirty" pushed him too far. It must have been really fucking dirty, because Dierk likes his work dirty. He does what no one else can do. Just for good measure, I also send the name to Reid Archer, my CFO at Hawk Legal, and a former classmate at Yale. We lost touch for seven years and one day, I walked into a meeting with a financial firm, and he was there. It was clear his knowledge of most things reached beyond our years.

One piece of advice my father gave me rings true: surround yourself with people who know more than you, and you'll create a winning team. You'll also eventually know what they know, if you make the effort to ensure you learn from them.

Reid is one of those people, and I credit myself for bringing him on board at Hawk Legal. In his area of expertise, he knows more than me. When I learn what he knows, he tops his experience off with more experience and more knowledge. And he's proven to me time and time again that he'll use that knowledge to my benefit. I take good care of Reid. He takes good care of me. And I trust Reid when I trust only a few people.

A few minutes later, I'm sitting in a private office lined with books, expensive paintings, and enough new-smelling leather to suffocate me and everyone else who visits. If I'm going to get drunk on a smell, I'd rather it be Bella's sweet, floral scent, no matter how damn hard it gets me. Not the preferences of my father's attorney sitting across me, studying documents he should be explaining to me.

Withers is an older man, with thick gray hair and ten years on my father, though he's still fit and able-bodied despite the cast that speaks to his recent skiing accident. He is, or was, my father's Reid. My father trusted him. I'm not sure that plays out well in my favor, but then nothing in the will my father wrote can be changed at this point. It is what it is. The words are written in stone unless I go to court and unwrite it, and that's a tough, public battle. Exactly why I pray my father did right by me in death when he never did right by me in life.

With a tap-tap of the upright folder on the table, Withers clears his throat and fixes his stare on me. His eyes are thick with what I can only call dread. I am not going to like what he has to say, nevertheless, I have to hear it.

"Just get to it," I urge.

"I know this process has been uniquely structured, but I do want to assure you your father had a logical purpose for the delay."

A muscle in my jaw tics at the ridiculous statement. Logic was never the motivation my father used when punishing me, which was a daily ordeal. "And that would be what?"

"He wanted you to have time to emotionally cope with his death before you took on the challenges he's made to your role as his successor."

Of course, my father couldn't give two fucks about my emotional recovery or anything resembling my well-being. "Elaborate," I order softly. "And do so quickly."

He slides a piece of paper in front of me. "Your mother split the cash in the bank with you for the sum of five hundred million each. I'll need you to fill out a wire transfer form." He slides the paperwork in front of me.

I fill out the form. The money isn't unexpected, though I have my own. I've invested well. I've prepared to be cut out of the family fortune. I complete the document and hand it back to the other man and do so with no sense of relief. There is a heaviness in the air, a seemingly illogical expectation I read in Withers that a man that just inherited five hundred million dollars is about to be an unhappy one.

He studies the document I've handed him and then glances at me. "The wire will go out today. This sum of money will take some time."

"I understand. Move on."

"Yes. Moving on. Your mother is out at Hawk Legal, which she agreed to in advance. You're the sole inheritor of your father's stock and therefore the controlling financial partner, with a few conditions. These conditions must be met within fourteen months of his death. He felt you needed a full year after the reading of the will to enact his demands."

Demands. The word says it all.

This is going to be another mind fuck by my father. I know this all too well without one extra detail, but I still provide the expected response. "What conditions?"

"It's spelled out in the documents in the folder. Let me leave you to look it over and digest the details. After which, I'll return and make myself available to answer questions." He stands up, exits the room, and shuts the door. It's fairly obvious he didn't want to take the brunt of my reaction. He wants me to cool down before he deals with my "questions."

My cellphone rings and I snake it from my pocket to find Dierk's number on caller ID. I answer the call because what's in the folder can't be changed. The outcome of Dash's Hollywood deal still has hope. "What do you have for me?" I ask.

"That new CEO has a reputation for killing deals. What existed before he takes over never survives. If you don't want his deal to die, leverage him, or take it elsewhere."

"Leverage him with what?"

"There's a cloak-and-dagger situation related to why he left his last studio. I'm digging. What I do know is that there was one exception to his kill program for existing projects. He hates to lose a bid and he held onto one script to keep it from going to another studio."

"Did he make the project?"

"Yes. It was Starlight."

One of last year's biggest films. "At least he knows how to go big. Get me that cloak and dagger data."

"More soon," he says, and he disconnects.

I return my attention to the folder and like all bad things, I don't wait and see. I rip the Band-Aid off. I open the folder and stare at the envelope sitting on top of a document, that reads "Tyler" in my father's print.

Tyler–

Here is how this plays out.

You inherit my stock and become controlling partner, but there's a catch. If you do not meet the guidelines of my will, the stock will revert evenly to all partners, excluding you. To secure your stock, and solidify it as yours and yours alone, you must marry within a year of this letter. On the eve of your wedding, my legal team will officially transfer your inheritance in full.

Additionally, you must put on a show and carry on an extended engagement in the public eye. At least six months to look respectable. You better make it look good, boy. My logic is sound. At this point, Hawk Legal needs stability and a family man as a leader. It will not survive my departure without a moral leader, which I have not been. No need for details. You know enough. You'll discover the rest. Make this work. Or don't. I'm dead. You are the one who has to live with my consequences now, not me. I told you to marry long ago, to establish a certain reputation, and you ignored me. Now you will not.

Goodbye, Tyler.

Oh, one more thing...

If you fail, you get one million, not five hundred million. The rest goes to a charity of your choice, but of course, without any connection to you at all.