“Has that wee minx not grown tired of you yet?” Dad asks, leaning into his Scottish accent. He was born in America, but splits his time between here and the Highlands. His accent changes with the location and as he’s only just arrived home from Moncrief castle, it’ll take him a while to settle back into his American twang.
“We have an exit plan in place.”
“Rory tells me she’s waiting until your wedding day for said exit. It’s cutting it fine, if you ask me.”
I haven’t seen Rory this week, which means he’s heard the latest update from the Griffins. He and Ash share all the latest intel, or so they think. There are things only Max and I are privy to.
Max was seriously pissed about Katarina threatening to tell her uncle about Grace. His advice was to send Graceaway. I should send her away, but if I do that, I lose all hope of getting her back.
Dad registers the defeat written all over my face and assumes the engagement itself is the cause. “I do not want a Barkov in this family,” he says, glowering. “You can’t marry her, laddie. God knows what that gobshite uncle of hers would do with our name to trade on.”
“I won’t let it get that far,” I say with unwarranted conviction. That scene with Katarina in the office proves how impotent I’ve become.
Dad pours us both a whiskey and gestures to one of the armchairs. He takes the other. Shit. It’s not a quick hello then.
“I’ve been making plans,” he says, tapping the side of his crystal glass with the inner band of his gold sovereign. “And I’ve already spoken to the others. Well, everyone except Fitz, but I’ll get around to that good-for-nothing tearaway soon enough. You don’t know where he is, do you?”
“I spoke to him the other day,” I say, not quite answering his question. “He’s doing OK, and he’ll be back for my wedding.” Dad glares at me and I shrug. “Everyone will be thereexceptthe bride. Now, tell me about your plans.” Quickly before Meri escapes, I want to add.
“I’m retiring.”
My heart sinks. Great, another problem to wrestle with. It might be less fraught than the Barkov issue, but its solution isn’t as obvious.
Dad deserves to step back after a lifetime of dedication, but he leaves a vacancy that’s going to be hard to fill. In previous generations, the patriarch’s children had plotted against each other for the top spot, but the reverse is true in our case. No one wants that poisoned chalice.
While it’s true that we’ve all taken up roles in the familybusiness and enjoyed the privilege of our positions, none of us want to take on the burden of running the whole show, not even Rory. The Moncrief empire stretches across the globe where night and day are meaningless because it's always daytime somewhere. There’s always a battle to win or a metaphoric fire to put out.
My dad chuckles. “I see you’re just as enthusiastic as the others,” he says, pausing to sip his drink. “But I did have an interesting conversation with Rory.”
I lean forward in my seat. “Has he offered to take your place?” He hasn’t mentioned anything to me, but Dad can be persuasive.
“Good grief, no. If anything, he wants to spend more time in that Scottish isle he bought after his divorce.”
“Yeah, he won’t stop talking about building a distillery there as part of the renovations.”
“I hope he does. And he’d better use the correct spelling. There’s no ‘e’ in whisky,” he insists, staying true to his Scottish roots. “I’ve given up trying to educate Ash Griffin.”
“Rory will back you on that one.”
“He will, but I don’t expect any of you to follow my lead in everything. Diversification and specialization is what we need,” Dad says as if it’s the key to unlocking all our futures. “Rory’s been running some ideas past Ash. That’s where he is now.” He checks his watch. “He promised he’d only be an hour, but he’s up to his neck dismantling the global empire that landed in the Griffins’ laps.”
I give my dad a look. “I doubt the Griffins would describe that particular acquisition quite so simply.” The lives of family members had been put in danger and they’d been driven to extremes to ensure their safety. I’d do the same.
“Either way, they’re breaking up a multinationalcompany into more manageable chunks,” Dad says. “Separating subsidiaries into businesses that won’t be in direct competition with each other.” I already know this, but Dad’s repeating it for a reason. “It’s still early days, but Rory thinks the benefits outweigh the risks and the stock market seems to agree.”
“You want to replicate it?”
“It’s an idea, but we don’t have to rush things,” Dad replies. “I want each of you to explore your own interests and develop areas of expertise that suit your individual talents. Rory says you’ve taken on the redevelopment of Corbyn House.”
I wait for some remark about me taking an interest in a certain interior designer too. Dad would absolutely mention it if he knew, but the comment doesn’t come. Maybe I should trust Rory and Calder to keep their mouths shut more than I do.
“I hope to have something to share soon,” I say. For a moment, I forget about the constant knot of anxiety in my stomach. Working with Grace might have been a ruse so we could spend more time together, but I’ve enjoyed the challenge of something new almost as much as her company. “I’ve been working with a designer and we’re leaning heavily into the history of the place, making it the spa’s unique selling point.”
My dad watches me intently. “I’m glad to see that spark of interest, son. It’s been a while,” he says. He clears his throat. “Keep doing what you’re doing. Find your passion and I’ll support you all the way.”
For the first time in months, I see a clear path ahead. For meandGrace. What’s more, my dad is holding the door to it wide open. Our family can be five shades of fucked up sometimes, but occasionally weget it right.
“Thanks, Dad. I needed that.”
