The Ceo's Only Distraction

The Weight

The silver nameplate on the mahogany desk read "Arthur Vance, CEO." It had been six months since the funeral, but Ethan still couldn't bring himself to replace it with his own name. To do so felt like an admission that his brother was truly gone, and that Ethan was truly trapped.

  Ethan leaned back in the high-backed leather chair, the silence of the top-floor office pressing against his ears. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city lights of the skyline blurred. He should have been at home, or at a bar, or anywhere else. But home was a mausoleum of Arthur’s things, and the bars were full of people who only wanted to talk to "the new Vance heir."

He picked up a heavy crystal glass, the amber liquid inside swirling as his hand gave a slight, exhausted tremor.

“You were always the smart one, Artie,” Ethan whispered to the empty room. “You were supposed to do this. I was just supposed to be the younger brother who played sports and made mistakes.”

  His phone buzzed on the desk—a reminder for a 9:00 AM board meeting tomorrow. Another day of pretending he understood logistics, another day of wearing a suit that felt like a straightjacket.

  He felt like he was drowning in slow motion. Every person he spoke to saw a businessman, a grieving brother, or a paycheck. No one saw him. No one remembered the version of Ethan who used to laugh until his ribs ached.

He closed his eyes, and for a split second, a memory flickered in the darkness of his mind. A messy dorm room. The smell of cheap pizza. A pair of bright eyes looked at him with an intensity he hadn't understood at the time.

Grey.

It was the first time he’d thought of that name without the sharp sting of guilt. Usually, the memory of that night—the heat of the air, the way Grey’s breath fell against his lips right before Ethan had panicked and pushed him away—was something he shoved into a dark corner of his brain.

  But tonight, in the suffocating cold of the Vance empire, the memory felt… warm.

  Ethan opened his eyes and reached for a stack of recruitment files HR had left on his desk. He didn't care about "Senior Analysts" or "Project Managers." He flipped through them mindlessly until a name on a digital printout caught his eye.

  Applicant: Grey Miller.

Reason for leaving previous position: Terminated.

  Ethan’s heart, which had felt like a lead weight for months, suddenly gave a sharp, frantic thud. He stared at the name until the letters burned into his retinas.

"Terminated?" Ethan muttered, his jaw tightening. He knew Grey. Grey was brilliant, hardworking, and loyal to a fault. There was no way he’d been fired for performance.

A slow, dangerous idea began to form in Ethan’s mind. He needed a way out of this grief. He needed a piece of his old life back to keep him from losing his mind. He needed a distraction.

  He pressed the intercom for his night assistant. "Sarah? That applicant, Grey Miller. Cancel his interviews with the department heads."

  There was a pause. "Sir? Should I tell him the position is filled?"

  Ethan looked at the photo attached to the file—a candid shot of Grey looking older, more tired, but still undeniably Grey.

"No," Ethan said, his voice deeper than before. "Tell him he’s reporting directly to me. I’ll conduct the interview myself. Tomorrow morning. First thing."