Their trips to Malawi had become fun, poignant memories for them all. Times to set aside the normal world of school and Worthington expectations to experience a simpler, streamlined life. Some of Will’s favorite pictures in the family album were taken in Malawi.
He smiled now as he flipped the album open on the table.
Andrew, usually so serious, caught with mouth open wide, laughing hysterically as he played soccer with the locals.
Patricia, so fair and Irish-looking, with her arms slung around a group of Malawian friends.
And baby Davy, his diaper mud-streaked and sagging as he dug in the dirt with a stick while Laura directed the digging of a well nearby.
Will sighed. Those were the moments that truly mattered in the long run. Companies would come and go, but family . . .
The absence of noise hung heavily in the room. It felt good to lounge for a few minutes in his favorite old T-shirt—the one Laura had vowed to throw out many times—and a pair of running shorts.
Will checked his texts, hoping for one from her or the kids. He grinned when he saw his buddy Paul Harrington’s message.
Fam still gone? Fishing in B?
He shook his head. Talk about timing. Normally he’d jump at the chance to go fishing in Branson, Missouri, with Paul, a longtime friend he’d met at prep school. Wealthy but centered, Paul was the guy who’d talked Will through all his late-night woes about being a Worthington and always in the limelight.
“So you’re a Worthington,” Paul had said to him once in their junior year. “You mess up and it’s public. You do good and it’s public. But that’s the public. Nobody knows what’s going on in there”—he’d smacked Will in the chest, near his heart—“except you. And man, that’s what’s most important.”
Will had never forgotten that discussion. And somehow, in the midst of demanding jobs and life’s craziness, the two friends had managed a fishing trip every year to some remote location. Last year it had been four glorious days of camping beside a prized trout stream in Montana. They’d headed for the airport grubby, grizzled, and nearly unrecognizable, but it was one of the best times Will could remember.
There was something about fishing that relaxed Will’s very soul. Maybe it was the quietness of the water, the warmth of the sun on his face, and the fact that fishermen, by nature, didn’t feel like they had to talk. They didn’t have to solve the world’s problems. They didn’t have to be anyone. They could just be.
Like during the summers he’d had growing up in Chautauqua, when he and his brother would take their sister trolling for muskies. Life was simple. They only needed snacks and fishing gear. Will always had to make his own bucktails, because the store-bought lures were too flawed—their hooks slightly off center or a bubble or two in the paint. Sean would roll his eyes at Will’s painstaking efforts and then be the first to catch a fish with his cheap lures. Sarah would squeal with delight when she got a strike, and her brothers would quickly come to help her land the big fish.
When they got better at their fishing skills, and their dad had some time off, he took them to one of the local trout streams for which western New York was famous. After catching their fill of fish for dinner, the boys and their dad would clean the fish. Sarah would wrinkle her nose in disgust and scamper off, saying she had something important to do. Their mom would fry up the fish with some potatoes, and they’d have a simple dinner. Afterward, they’d make s’mores around the fire.
Even now, so many years later, Will’s mouth salivated. He could still taste those graham crackers—the only part of the s’mores he ate, because he hated the mess they created. Sean would eat three s’mores, then reach for another one before his mom called a halt to his sugar intake. And his sister? Sarah ate the gooey marshmallows right off the stick until her face was streaked with the sticky white stuff. Then she’d sing her favorite campfire songs at the top of her lungs, and they’d all end the evening with “Kumbaya.”
Will chuckled at the memories. He loved his siblings. He’d do anything for them. But in normal life, they could also drive him a bit crazy. They were unpredictable and didn’t think through the consequences of their actions like he did. And that had created some tricky situations over their growing-up years . . . more than he wanted to recall.
But during the summers at Chautauqua, that didn’t matter. They all relaxed together and had fun. They were a normal family, not the Worthingtons in the limelight. It had been far too long since the three of them had set aside their adult lives and gathered at the family cottage. Too bad it had ended so fast this time when Sean had to leave.
It was in the midst of Will’s early morning reflections that his cell phone had rung. It was Sean’s ringtone, and Will knew Sean never called when he was trotting around the globe unless it was really important.
And he was right.
“You might get what Dad wanted faster than you can imagine,” Sean said.
“What do you mean?” Will asked.
“That shot at CEO of AF.” The line crackled with static.
Will waited. His brother was always short on words but loved to add a touch of drama.
“A massive oil fiasco, right here in the Arctic Ocean,” Sean said. “Worse than BP. All AF. That venture you voted down—you were right. It was too risky. Now oil’s gushing up from the bottom of the ocean like a backwards Niagara Falls.”
Will sat up straight, his reflective mood gone.
“Just thought you should know . . . before it’s plastered all over the news.” Then Sean hung up abruptly, as was his habit.
Will, stunned, still held the phone. After a minute, he sighed and texted Paul back. Maybe not. Big oil leak in Arctic Ocean.
American Frontier’s rig? Paul replied.
Yup. And Sean’s right there in the middle of it.
Whoa, dude.
Will laughed out loud. He didn’t even have to explain with Paul. Paul just knew. He understood how complicated life could be for Will with heading the Worthington empire and simultaneously trying to keep his wild-card siblings out of danger’s way.
When Will didn’t respond immediately, a second later Paul texted again. Got it. But those fish are still callin’.
The fish would have to wait. It was back to business.
After that, Will’s relaxing day had taken off like a rocket ship. He’d skipped his usual morning run and instead had taken a shower in record time so he could surf the already breaking internet stories before Drew arrived. Drew Simons had served the Worthington family for over three decades. Will had been eight when Drew was hired in the role of company financial advisor. But over the years he’d become a trusted, beloved uncle as well. He truly loved and understood each of the Worthington children and wanted the best for them. Sean would have called Drew too, and a minute into the phone conversation Drew would have headed Will’s way.
At that moment a knock sounded on the door. It was good some things in life were predictable.
The rest of the day passed with lightning speed as Will and Drew strategized and watched news bulletins about the leak. After receiving notice of American Frontier’s emergency board meeting the next day, they put in a call to Will’s father, who wanted to stay informed even if he was inching toward retirement.
“This is a pinnacle moment for American Frontier,” he proclaimed. “They’ll choose to do one of two things—the right thing or the easy thing. Either they’ll act with honesty and integrity, doing whatever they can to pool resources to investigate how this happened, to establish safeguards that lessen the chances of it happening again, and to clean the mess up to the best of their ability. Or they’ll do the easy thing, spinning the media their way and sidetracking the real truth.”
Will’s father had raised him with the admonition, “Might never makes right. But if you dream big, do the right thing, set your direction, take your compass, and never stray from the path, you can accomplish anything you decide to do.”
Will had watched time and again as his
father had fought for what was right and never backed down. It was one of the many reasons that Drew, a picture of integrity himself, had stayed with the Worthington family for his entire career. When Bill Worthington said he’d do something, he did everything in his power to make it happen. He honored his promises, even when they were difficult. Whatever hard taskmaster he was at home—always demanding his kids pull their weight and not shirk responsibility—he was a symbol of trust and integrity in the media. Will was determined to uphold the reputation of the Worthington family and, even more, to always listen to the still small voice inside and do the right thing.
With his dad’s continual reminder of doing what was right, paired with his mother’s simple mantra of “family first in all things,” Will had never wavered from either. He strove to do both to the best of his ability, even when it wasn’t easy.
Like now. Personal worry for his risk-taking brother edged into Will’s business thoughts about American Frontier.
Sean, as usual, was right there in the middle of the chaos. His message had been cryptic, but it got the job done so Will knew about the oil fiasco before any of the media. So typically Sean. The networking master. Will had to watch the rest of the details of the breaking news on TV. That was how Sean always was with Will in business details. Short and to the point.
To the rest of the world, Sean was a charming entrepreneur who lived in a fast-paced circle of money and friends and made things happen. He managed the Worthington Shares start-ups and was a good fit for the job, continually lining things up so he could stay at the forefront of events across the world. Will spent most of his time in boardrooms and black-tie events. That suited his personality.
But Worthington business always seemed to drive the brothers apart, and Will hated that part of it.
His next call was to his sister, who was working with the Department of Justice’s Criminal Division. If there was an investigation into the oil spill, Sarah would be involved. Ironic how a single event was pulling all of them in from different angles.
Her response, too, was swift. “Yeah, I know. Could be big. We’re working on it. You in the thick, bro?”
“Not yet,” he said, “but I will be.”
When the initial furor had died down a bit that night, Will stood in front of the mirror and held up three different suits for his meeting with American Frontier. He finally picked the navy Armani one, then frowned. It wasn’t the same navy as the color of the scarf that matched the topcoat. It would clash.
Just as he was debating the possibilities, his cell buzzed.
It was his wife, on Skype from Malawi. Once a day, they both stopped what they were doing and took time to discuss their days.
Her face appeared on his iPhone, smiling. She was as beautiful with tangled hair and a smudge of dirt on her cheek as the day he’d married her. “Hey there, good-lookin’. What are you up to? I can’t wait to see you tomorrow!”
It only took a few words to explain about American Frontier and the spill. Her eyes grew sad, concerned. “This will affect a lot of people and animals, won’t it? Change the water quality . . .”
He could always count on Laura to bring a larger perspective. It was one of the many reasons he respected her.
“And then there’s what this means for Worthington Shares and you,” she went on. “How are you dealing with all that?”
“Like usual. Examining all the angles before I make a move.”
As they talked for an hour about all those angles, and his kids popped in and out of the screen with tidbits from their days, he smiled and laughed. The tenseness in his shoulders relaxed.
They weren’t there in the room with him, but their presence still filled his heart and centered him.
“Will,” his wife said at the end before she blew him a kiss and signed off, “don’t worry. Just do the right thing. You always do, and you always will.”
4
“You just never know,” Will said the next morning over a quick cup of coffee with Drew at their usual pre-meeting breakfast spot, the restaurant on the ground floor of the Trump Tower at Columbus Circle. “Not really. Not until the votes, including the proxies, are in. You can’t assume anything here.”
Drew’s keen blue-gray eyes met Will’s. “True, but we both know where the votes are on this. It’s inevitable. There isn’t anyone else they can consider—not right now.”
Will scanned the small restaurant to make sure none of his peers were around or in earshot. It wasn’t likely. He always preferred to work out at exactly the same time every morning at the Reebok Sports Club on the Upper West Side in the city. The club was just down the street from his three-bedroom suite at 71st that overlooked Central Park on the west side. His Wall Street pals were rarely around, either at the club or at the restaurant. He could speak freely here.
“I know you’re right. Probably right.” But Will could feel the beginnings of a migraine.
“I usually am.” Drew cocked his head and grinned.
“But this isn’t Dad’s company.”
“I know,” Drew interjected. “It’s American Frontier, a very public company. The recent incidents mean all of Wall Street is paying close attention. More than usual. But you’re still the only person for it, especially given the circumstances.”
“Perhaps.” Will pursed his lips and glowered at no one in particular.
It was an old habit. He’d done it since he was a young child. It had worked well to intimidate his brother and sister, even when he hadn’t been trying, so they would do whatever he wanted them to do. It had even led his brother to say once, in irritation, “Oh, here comes God.” After that comment, Will had swiftly regained the upper hand in a wrestling move, as he always did. His brother might have muttered it again under his breath, but he never did so to Will’s face.
He was sure now, by the way Drew studied him, that the older man knew what the glower meant and kept silent on purpose for a while. Will was considering the odds in his head, calculating his rivals for the CEO job at American Frontier. In fact, he’d done nothing but calculate those odds for hours on end since Sean had broken the news of the Arctic spill . . . almost as if Will could control the outcome merely by focusing all his energies on it.
Will wouldn’t admit it to anyone, except maybe Drew—certainly not to his father, who would only push him harder—but he badly wanted this position. It represented all he’d sought to date and was the pinnacle of nearly everything he might aspire to in life. He just hadn’t thought he’d get a shot at it this soon.
There was nothing else in the world he wanted more than to become the CEO of American Frontier at its gravest hour and turn it toward the top of the mountain again. He couldn’t imagine anything more important, more prestigious, more significant, than running the most powerful company in the history of civilization.
The oil spill at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean had rocked American Frontier to its core. The stock exchange had even been forced to halt trading toward the end of the day, before its price slipped into oblivion. Everyone remembered the mess with BP. It had played out for weeks in front of viewers until the source of the gushing leak had been capped at the bottom of the ocean floor. Then there were the never-ending lawsuits with the Department of Justice, the communities and coastlines ringing the Gulf of Mexico, and environmental NGOs.
The Arctic spill was potentially much worse. The Arctic Ocean fed several other big bodies of water, and the currents could carry oil to the shores of nearly a dozen nations—all that would likely sue for tens of billions in damages. American Frontier, the company at the very center of the world’s economy, was suddenly at risk, even with its vast reserves of cash and nearly impenetrable financial position. Any hint it might collapse could bring down governments around the world that were tied to oil wealth.
American Frontier shareholders, already nervous about the controversial decision to drill in the icy waters of the Arctic, demanded answers . . . and someone’s head. The current CEO would certainly
lose that battle. It would be played out in the American Frontier boardroom first and then in front of the financial press.
In that fallout, William Jennings Worthington VI was perfectly positioned to take over as the new CEO. It was a lock, the Wall Street Journal had reported. American Frontier’s board of directors comprised CEOs from nearly all of the biggest companies in the world, along with former heads of state and the greatest wealth holders on the planet. Will’s family controlled the Worthington Shares Equity Fund, which several years earlier had passed Warren Buffett’s Berkshire Hathaway conglomerate as the largest equity holding fund in the world. Worthington Shares also held a substantial minority position in American Frontier. That alone gave Will a right to argue for a change in leadership.
But that financial incentive wasn’t even why Will was the logical choice. He knew the reason. He was a natural leader.
“You know what your father would say,” Drew added. “There’s no position beyond your grasp, if you decide to go for it. You inspire confidence. You’re easy to follow. And American Frontier and the world’s energy economy rely on a steady hand.”
It was true. Will projected confidence, whether he felt that way inside or not. He’d always been a star—valedictorian of his high school class, voted “Most Likely to Succeed,” and captain of his lacrosse team at Harvard. But what he wanted most of all—for his father to be proud of him—hadn’t changed since he was a little boy.
“And of course, you’re not bad-looking either,” Drew teased. “That helps. Love that GQ article: ‘Six feet one, tantalizingly handsome with wavy, chestnut hair and riveting dark eyes. A man to watch.’ And you’ve got the regal profile that spans the generations of Worthingtons.” His face sobered. “There’s speculation kicking up of politics for you.” His keen eyes again studied Will.
A Perfect Ambition Page 3
