I get up, hesitate, then walk into the bar. I go up to the bartender, slip Marcus’s jacket off my shoulders, and hold it out to him.
“Can you return this to Mr. Ashford?” I ask. “Marcus Ashford, I mean.”
He takes it. “Of course, ma’am.”
“Thank you.” I decide not to go back into the ballroom, and instead turn and head back to the terrace, where a set of stairs leads down to the street.
Now, I just have to wait.
Chapter Three
Marcus
Caesar’s late. Again.
Dad announced he wanted to wait for his arrival before diving in, so Aurelia, the three independent directors, and I have all been quietly looking at our phones since we took our seats.
At the head of the table, Dad glances at his watch for the third time in a minute, then huffs impatiently through his nose.
Without moving my head, I lift my gaze to Aurelia, who’s sitting opposite me. She crosses her eyes, and I stifle a laugh.
The glass door opens, and Caesar comes in.
“Apologies,” he says. He lets the door swing shut behind him and puts his phone on the table next to Aurelia. “Anyone else want coffee?”
Everyone declines. He looks at me. I gesture at his shirt buttons. He throws me a sarcastic look and goes over to the table by the window to pour himself a cup.
“Glad you could make it,” Dad says dryly.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” Caesar brings the cup back and sits beside Aurelia. “The traffic was worse than usual.”
“And yet somehow we all managed to make it on time.” Dad glares at his firstborn, then looks down at the folder in front of him and opens the cover.
Caesar looks at me and quirks an eyebrow. I give a slight shrug of my shoulder. Yesterday, I spent most of the day with a group of Japanese businessmen who are interested in acquiring some of our technology, so I haven’t yet had a chance to catch up with my brother. I assumed he’d know why Dad has called us in, but it doesn’t look as if Dad’s told him, either.
“Thank you all for coming,” Dad says. His hair used to be the same shade as Caesar’s and mine, but now it shinessilver in the sunlight streaming through the window. “A week ago,” he continues, “Tom Rutherford called me and requested a confidential meeting.”
He’s named the CEO of Rutherford Agricultural Group, an old, powerful, New Zealand family empire with huge land holdings. Tom Rutherford is a notoriously ruthless negotiator who is well known for buying family companies and dismantling them.
Caesar and I exchange another glance, sitting up in our seats.
“We arranged to meet on the morning of the twenty-first,” Dad continues. “Following this, I met with Malcolm, Hemi, and Caroline yesterday.”
He met with the other board members without us? It’s not unheard of, but it is unusual.
“What did Tom want?” Caesar asks.
“He said that if the Ashford family is ever open to discussing the future of Ashford AgriTech, the Rutherford Group would be interested in exploring an acquisition. He knows that our pasture intelligence system collects massive amounts of farm data, and he understands that whoever controls the data controls the future of agriculture.”
Caesar stares at our father. “He’s heard that you’re thinking of retiring.”
Dad doesn’t answer straight away. He studies the paper in front of him, then continues, “He said a preliminary valuation suggests the Rutherford Group would be willing to acquire Ashford AgriTech for approximately 3.2 billion dollars.”
Caesar, Aurelia, and I all inhale. A recent valuation of our company came to 1.8 billion, so it’s a significant amount more.
It’s a staggering amount for a man who built his empire from scratch. Fifteen years ago, Dad was just the son of a farmer,learning the ropes and doing his best to keep the family farm in profit. Now, he’s the head of a globally successful conglomerate.
He owns a controlling stake—forty percent. The rest is split between us and a group of investors.
