Of course he was.
“He says he’s running late,” I said.
Elliot made a show of shock. “I’m stunned.”
I stepped into my office, and Claire followed without asking.
The space was exactly what people expected from someone like me: dark wood, clean lines, minimalist art selected for prestige rather than meaning. No photographs, no personal artifacts, nothing that invited questions or led anyone to assume they knew something personal about me.
Control made people comfortable. Emotion complicated things.
Claire placed a folder on my desk. “Your father’s assistant called again.”
“Did she,” I said, loosening my tie.
Elliot chuckled, and Claire let out a tired sigh.
I looked up. “And?”
She exhales. “Your father’s office sent something over.”
That got my attention. “What?”
She hesitates, then hands me a slim black folder. No branding. No markings. Heavy cardstock. Intentional.
“It’s marked personal,” she says. “Estate-related.”
I recognize the folder for what it is before I open it.
My father doesn’t send documents without a purpose. He sends them when he wants something formalized, logged, acknowledged, unavoidable.
Elliot whistles, “That looks ominous.”
“It’s nothing,” I say, trying to get my jaw to unclench.
“That’s never true when you say it like that.”
Claire continues, "These files all need to be signed in the morning."
I grunt, staring out the floor to the ceiling windows, "Leave them on my desk."
“Of course,” Claire replied evenly. “You have three calls tomorrow morning,” she continued. “Rowan at nine. Elliot has a media interview at ten. Caleb asked to schedule some time to go over the Ransom acquisition, wants to revisit the terms.”
“The acquisition terms are final.”
“Final is usually the word people use before they reopen negotiations.”
Caleb appeared in the doorway like he’d been summoned.
“Reopening terms now would read as uncertainty,” I said. “Which reads as weakness.”
His gaze met mine, steady. “People change their minds, Julian.”
Something about the way he said it made it feel less like commentary and more like a warning.
Then he was gone.
Claire hesitated. “Do you want me to push dinner?”
