I resumed pacing, moving faster now and dragging a hand through my hair as I tried not to scream. “We have other investors. We don’t needthem.”
“Perhaps not, but we do need Abram Hinds,” Dad said gently, his brown eyes tracking my movements as I strode from one side of the room to the other.
I sighed but barely broke stride. Abram Hinds wasn’t just another client. He wastheclient. Twenty years ago, when Dad was still clawing his way into relevance, he’d helped Hinds structure his wealth, grow it, protect it, and turn it into the kind of generational fortune that made magazine covers.
Abram’s trust in my father and the results he’d gotten for him had catapulted our family back out of obscurity and now Hinds was retiring.
“Abram has no heirs,” Dad said, still watching me carefully. “He’s selling the company and he wants to live off the retirement accounts we created for him.”
“I know that,” I snapped, my voice sharper than necessary.
Dad didn’t flinch. “Well, then you know what it means for us.”
Shit.
Although we would still manage Abram’s personal wealth, our firm would lose billions over the next decade or so because there wouldn’t be any new income from his company.
“This is the biggest account we’ve ever had,” Dad said quietly. “I don’t want to lose it.”
“You won’t lose it,” I shot back. “You’ve managed his money for two decades. He trusts you.”
“He trusts results,” Dad corrected me. “If his company is sold to a firm that wants their own financial management structure,we risk being phased out over time. Maybe not immediately. But eventually.”
I hated that he was making sense. I hated it more because I already knew where this was going. “So your solution is to partner with a company I would rather set on fire than share air with?”
Dad sighed. “My solution is to protect the firm, our employees, and every client who depends on us continuing to grow. That’s where the Westwoods come in.”
That’s where the Westwoods come in.The words echoed through my mind as I stared at him, waiting for the punchline even though I knew he wasn’t joking. “You cannot be serious.”
“They want to buy Hinds’ company and they will, Kate. I’m sure of it,” he said firmly. “I’ve already talked to Alex Westwood about the financials and he made me an offer I need to consider.”
I slowed my pacing, suspicion prickling along my spine. “They’ll let you continue to manage the account even with Hinds out and in retirement?”
Dad nodded. “That’s part of the conversation. We’re still negotiating, but yes. They’re interested in keeping us attached to portions of the company portfolio once ownership transfers.”
“That’s surprisingly reasonable,” I admitted cautiously, immediately hating the words.
“It’s strategic, but it’s also complicated. Other companies are starting to circle the account like sharks. This isn’t a clean, single-buyer situation.”
Translation: the price tag is astronomical.
“Alex would have to put in a serious bid, and even then, despite their wealth, they likely won’t have enough on their own. There are rumors of other firms joining forces, planning on splitting divisions of Hinds’ company to make the acquisition viable.”
The realization hit me in stages, each one more unwelcome than the last. My head dropped forward at the final one. I sucked in a breath as I finally stopped pacing, the words whispering out of me. “You want in.”
Dad didn’t answer immediately, but just like that, I had my answer. I looked up, my eyebrows shooting high on my forehead at the resolve on his expression. “I want us at the table, Katie. Right now, Alex Westwood is the best way to make that happen.”
I laughed, but there was absolutely no humor behind the sound. “You’re suggesting we tie our future to a dynasty that measures worth in last names and trust funds.”
He shrugged. “That dynasty controls one of the most stable financial empires in the country.”
“They’re old money,” I snapped. “They don’t trust people like us. In fact, they love to keep us at arm’s length. We’re the cautionary tale, Dad. A failed old-money lineage that rebuilt itself into new money with a very public history and an even bigger target on our backs.”
“We rebuilt,” he replied patiently. “That’s the only thing that matters.”
“Not to them.”
“That’s why I’m sending you to Chicago.” He looked me right in the eyes when he said it, and he definitely wasn’t kidding. “You’re going to go over there, make our pitch, and play nice.”
