by Rye Hart
My dad though, had insisted that I forgo the usual teenage activities and demanded that I devote myself to learning the business. There were times I resented it, sure. But, I bit the bullet and I was there. Every single day until I went off to Stanford for college, I was there. I did everything he wanted to and more, getting to know the business inside and out. Every single facet of it.
Still, even though I was older now, I still stepped inside the hallowed walls of his private sanctuary, and held my breath as I took it all in. As crazy as it sounded, there was a reverent and almost spiritual air about the place – probably because it was such a forbidden room to me when I was young. It still held some sense of mystery and awe to me. The room was dark, with rich wooden walls and floors, and a massive Cherrywood desk in the center of the room. A wine-colored rug took up most of the floor, and at the helm of it all, his presence as dignified and commanding as ever, was my dad. In his usual spot in the chair behind the desk, surrounded by bookshelves taller than any of us, he gazed at us as we situated ourselves.
There were no photos or any personal items in my dad's office. Something I always thought a little strange. I'd want to be surrounded by my personal effects in my sanctuary. He always said though, his office was a place for work. My dad had never been a very sentimental man and didn't have time to deal with overwrought, emotional drama. He was a no-nonsense, business first, kind of man.
Adam dropped down onto the black leather sofa that sat along the wall, facing Dad. My mom joined Dad behind his desk, her posture perfect, her hand on his shoulder, standing tall. It was like they were posing for a photograph or something. Terrance stood on the other side of my dad, his hands at his side.
They all stared at me as I quickly considered my options. I looked over at the sofa but had no desire to sit next to Adam; not with the way he was sitting there smirking at me. Instead, I chose to remain standing near the front of his desk. Terrance offered me a seat – there were two leather chairs flanking the sides of the desk-- but I shook my head. No, as much as I disliked Adam in that moment, I was determined to avoid making a spectacle of myself.
“I prefer to stand,” I said.
“Very well,” he said.
He nodded gracefully and stepped back to his position beside my father. The circles under my dad's eyes were darker than mine – and I know for certain he hadn't been out drinking the night before.
My dad was a man that never needed more than four hours sleep a night, but it was exceedingly rare to see him looking so tired. His white hair was thinning even more than I'd remembered, and his skin was sallow and thin, as if you could see through it. His eyes were the same blue color as mine, – people often said I looked like a younger version of him. I had the same blue eyes and sandy blonde hair that he'd had in his youth. Given that my dad had been a good looking, strapping young man, I'd always taken it as a compliment.
Dad cleared his throat, and we all stood at attention. Even Adam stood, joining me at the front of the desk as if to hear things clearer, a smug little smile on his face. I really wanted to smack it right off of him. Adam probably thought this had to do with Dad's will, and he, of course, wanted a piece of that. I could practically see the dollar signs in his eyes and see him coming up with the list of shit he was going to spend it all on.
“As you're all aware, I saw my doctor last week for some test results,” he said, his voice still strong and commanding. It echoed throughout the room like rolling thunder. “And the results were not good, as we feared.”
Mom's eyes filled with tears and she squeezed his shoulder, wiping away the tears with her other hand. I inched toward her, but she held out a hand, telling me to stop.
As with all things, I obeyed my mother.
“The doctors have found a mass in my brain,” he said. “They believe that it's benign, but because of where it's located, it's impossible to remove.”
I grabbed the corner of my dad's desk, not trusting my legs to keep me from falling over. I felt a churning in my gut and a fluttering in my chest. I'd expected the news to not be good, but actually hearing it coming out of his mouth, confirming my fears still hit me like a runaway train.
“Benign? That means it's not cancerous,” I said. “That's a good thing, right?”
My dad's eyes looked over at me, taking me in carefully before he answered. He took my mother's hand and squeezed it gently before speaking again.
“It's not cancerous, no,” he said. “But, because of where it's located, it will likely cause other issues.”
“Other issues?”
My dad's voice cracked, which rattled me to the core. My father was not an emotional man. I didn't think I'd ever seen him shed a single tear in my entire life. So, to hear his voice crack, to hear it as thick with emotion as it was, made a profound and telling statement to me.
My mom cleared her throat and continued for him. “What your father is trying to say, Malcolm, is based on where the tumor is at, it's likely to eventually cause some mental difficulties for him.”
Mental difficulties. I still didn't understand it all, and it must have been obvious from the look on my face. Perhaps it was shock, or disbelief, but none of it made any sense. It all seemed utterly surreal to me. I shook my head to deny the reality of it all, but when I looked back at them, at their stone-faced stoicism, the ugly reality hit me all over again.
My dad was the strongest man I'd ever known, and nothing – not even a tumor – could take him down. I'd genuinely believed that he was one of those superhuman beings that simply could not be beaten and who could conquer anything set in their path.
I'd watched him start his company from scratch. Watched him build it into a thriving empire, a force to be reckoned with in the pharmaceutical industry. Even when times were tough, during the recession, my dad was strong and stood tall, battling the problems as they came, head-on. He never back down, never gave in, and never once did I see him falter.
Surely this wasn't something he couldn't overcome.
Dad finally found the words. “Malcolm, I'm going to suffer from memory loss, seizures, dementia and eventually death,” he said bluntly, as direct and to the point as ever. “The doctors have given me two years to live—at most-- which means there are preparations and considerations to be made.”
My nails dug into the wood of his desk, scratching it until a splinter pierced my fingernail. The sharp pain radiating through my hand brought me back to the here and now.
“How can it kill you?” I asked. “It's not cancer. I don't understand.”
“Even benign brain tumors can be deadly,” he explained. “The brain is a complex organ, Malcolm.”
Dad's voice was calmer than it should have been for someone who was facing his own death. But, he talked about it rationally and logically, answering all of our questions with grace and aplomb. That's just who he was. Always stoic, professional and strong.
Even when he was coming face-to-face with his mortality.
“It can't be cured, but it does mean I have more time that I would if it had been malignant, Malcolm,” he said. “And knowing I have a short shelf life has made me realize something very important. I've spent so much time running my business, making money, and trying to leave a legacy behind, that I've neglected those who matter most to me – my family. With the clock ticking, I'm focusing on what’s most important – the people in this very room.”
“You've always been an amazing father,” I said. “You have nothing to atone for. Nothing to prove to any of us.”
Adam side-eyed me, but kept his mouth shut. He hadn't said a single word since Dad mentioned the diagnosis, and I finally glanced over at him. He was standing up straight, his body stiff, but he was otherwise calm. His face was passive. If anything, he looked – bored.
It was as if my father's words had no effect on him. Maybe he'd inherited my father's stoicism, or maybe he actually didn't care about my dad. Our dad. It was hard to tell, and I tried not to make any rash judgements in the heat of
an emotional moment. But, seeing him there, silent and relaxed, caused my blood to boil from the inside out. I wanted to lash out, grab him, and get his face. I wanted to scream at him, asking him what in the hell was wrong with him.
I did none of that though. I simply stood there, trying to let the profound implications of this news sink in.
“Family has always been important to me, just as it was to my own father before me,” Dad continued. “I've been neglecting my family legacy. Which is why I make one request, and only one request, from you, my sons.”
“Anything, Dad,” I said. Adam, of course, said nothing.
“I have approximately two years left on this earth,” he said. “I need to know I'm leaving a legacy behind, a strong Crane lineage that will continue long after I'm dead.”
Adam adjusted his footing, shifting on the balls of his feet. In his view, things were suddenly getting interesting.
“Which brings me to the topic of your inheritance, sons,” he said. “I would rather not wait until after my death to share my wealth with the two of you, but I need to be sure of one thing – that the Crane legacy lives on and is strong, and will be, well beyond the two of you, my only children.”
“What's that supposed to mean, Dad?”
Adam asked the question that was eating at me, but I'd learned long ago to never rush my father along when he was talking. It was always best to let him spell things out in his own time. He'd eventually come to the point. Adam, though, hadn't had the same experience.
“It means,” my dad sat up tall in his seat, and his voice grew firmer, “that I expect both of my sons to give me grandchildren while I'm still capable of appreciating them. Before I lose my senses and don't have the ability to remember any of you, let alone my grandkids. Doctors say that can be anywhere from nine months to a year from now, maybe longer. But, he also said to not count on it, that it was a very fluid timeline.”
Adam scoffed, and I remained perfectly still, studying my father's face very carefully.
My half-brother said, “Nine months?” he asked, his voice colored with disdain. “You do realize how long it takes to have a child, right?”
My dad's gaze drifted from me over to Adam, and his eyes narrowed as he looked at him. My mom stiffened and stared down at Adam as if she'd forgotten he was there. Call it selective memory. Both of my parents seem disturbed by his bluntness, and while I couldn't blame them, I was glad someone came out and asked the hard questions. I was even more glad that it wasn't me.
Dad's voice rumbled through the office, “Well, you better start trying then, shouldn't you?”
Terrance cleared his throat and opened a file on the desk in front of him. He pulled out a couple sheets of paper and slipped both Adam and myself a copy of Dad's last will and testament. Just seeing the words at the top of the page sent a jagged bolt of pain through my heart that I wasn't ready to deal with. “I'd encourage you two to look everything over,” Terrance said. “And if you have any questions, you can call me anytime. I'll help you through all the legalese and get you pointed in the right direction.”
Dad stood with mom's help. “That should be all, thank you Terrance,” he said. “Let me walk you out.”
The two men walked around the desk, and dad patted me on the back as he passed on the way to the door. Before he passed me completely though, he leaned close and whispered in my ear.
“It's about time you put a ring on that young lady's finger and a baby in her belly anyway,” he said and gave me a wink.
Danielle. He meant Danielle. Fuck me. He didn't know.
Dad and Terrance left the office, leaving the three of us alone. I sighed, running a hand through my hair, still not able to absorb everything that had just been said. Still not able to absorb the inevitability of my dad's impending death.
“Mom, he can't be serious.”
“Oh, but he is, Malcolm,” she said. “He's wanted grandchildren forever, but we figured he had plenty of time. Shows what we know. This diagnosis obviously changes everything.”
Granted, I'd always wanted children of my own. Someday. I'd assumed that one day, Danielle and I would get married and have a bunch of kids. That dream had come crashing down in a flaming heap around me though. There was no way I would ever produce a child with her after what she'd done. Not even if she begged me to take her back. Never again.
“Did you read the rest of the contract?” Adam said. “If we don't give the old man what he wants, we forfeit our right to any inheritance. And if one of us succeeds, the winner gets it all. The whole shebang.”
“But if you both succeed,” mom countered, glaring at Adam with open hostility, “you split everything fifty-fifty, with Malcolm getting ownership of Crane Enterprises, and Adam enough shares to be a controlling member.”
That was it. I slammed my fists down on the desk, anger and outrage coursing through me.
“You mean, I have to get a girl knocked up to take control of the company I've been working for my entire life?” I asked.
“Hush, we'll talk later,” mom said.
I opened my mouth to argue, but she stepped around the desk and took my hands in hers. She met my eyes and I knew she was trying to tell me something. Hell, she didn't even have to say the words, I knew what she was telling me.
I needed to do this. I needed to be the head of the company. It couldn't go into Adam's scheming little hands, not if we wanted my father's legacy to live on. If the company went to Adam, he'd destroy it. Piece by piece, he'd run the company my father built with his own two hands into the ground.
“There are other ways to have a child, one that doesn't involve love and marriage, Malcolm.”
Her voice was low and careful, her gaze steady on mine. Adam wasn't paying attention to us. He was reading the will, no doubt going through a mental list of names of women he could knock up. My mom cut a quick glance at him and then turned back to me, careful to keep her voice low.
“The woman does not need to be part of the family, Malcolm,” she said. “So, you can – ”
“Knock some girl up you meet in the bar,” Adam said, leaning against Dad's desk casually. “Easy peasy if you ask me. I should have an ankle biter running around for the old man in no time.”
I cringed, and my mom scowled, a look of pure hatred on her face when she looked at Adam. But, I had to give her credit – she stayed quiet. She didn't counter Adam's obnoxiousness in the least and bit back the scathing replies I knew were on the tip of her tongue.
Instead of lashing out at him, she continued speaking to me, “Surrogacy is also an option. Your father just wants grandchildren to carry on his name and legacy,” she said. “We can look into agencies for you.”
I nodded, but my insides were churning, and I felt like they were eating me alive. I was going to be a father, sooner than I'd ever imagined. Sooner than I wanted. By surrogacy or some other method, I was going to have a baby.
There was no way I could let my legacy, my company – everything I worked my ass off for all these years – to fall into the hands of another. Especially somebody so reckless and irresponsible as my brother; somebody who didn't know the company the way I did. Somebody who didn't care about it the way I did.
He might have been my brother, and he was owed his inheritance by right of his birth, but I'd worked for my father since I was fifteen years old, sacrificing so much, so that I could stand at the head of this company. There was no way in hell I was going to let someone take that away from me just because he could impregnate some random woman.
“I got this, mom,” I said.
My voice sounded calmer than I felt. I gave her hand a quick squeeze before picking up the documents, and ushered her out of the room, leaving me alone with Adam. He seemed smug, arrogant, and overly confident. He was smirking as we left my dad's office. Danielle stood up as we walked down the hall and stepped into the parlor, and she walked over to me.
I walked by her, not even listening to what she had to say. My mother fell into step bes
ide me, leaving Danielle in the parlor with Adam.
CHAPTER TWO
CASEY
“Yo, Casey, can you hand me that glass over there?” Tommy called out from behind the bar. “Guess someone forgot to wash it last night.”
“Sorry, we were here late,” I called. “What do ya want from us?”
My eyes were heavy with sleep and my body ached in places I'd forgotten it could ache. It felt like I'd just gotten off my last shift, and there I was again. The money was good, but the hours sucked. My feet hurt like hell and my shift was just beginning. Yeah, this was going to be one fun night.
“Chill, darling,” he said, grinning at me, holding his hands up in surrender. “Didn't mean it that way.”
“Yeah, well, I'm exhausted,” I said. “Sorry if I'm a little bitchy tonight.”
I handed him the glass and his fingers touched mine as he reached out to take it, sending a little electric charge through my body. Tommy must've felt it too because he winked at me. Being the son of the owner came with major benefits – like working only when you wanted to, not to mention getting breaks and shit the rest of us didn't get.
He also had his dad's rugged good-looks, which paid off pretty well when he worked behind the bar. Strong jaw, dark hair, and pale gray eyes. He was a man who could make the panties drop with minimal effort. The problem was, he knew it too. The cocky bastard.
“You know, one of these days, after the bar closes, we should – ”
I held up my hand and cut him off right there. I knew what he's going to ask, and the answer was always the same. A resounding no.
“You know I can't,” I said.
“Because you work too damn much.”
“Bills don't pay themselves, Tommy,” I said. “And I don't have a rich daddy to take care of me and pay my way.”
“But if you play your cards right, you could have a sugar daddy,” he said, tipping me a wink.
