“Yeah, what is up with you?” she asks me curiously. “Why aren’t you drinking?”
“I’m drying out,” I tell her. “The doctor pointed out that two units a day didn’t mean two bottles.”
She just narrows her eyes at me, but luckily she’s distracted by another member of staff who brings over an umbrella andslots it into the hole in the center of our table before putting it up.
“Good idea,” my eldest brother, Iain, says. “Don’t want to burn the milk.”
He’s referring to the fact that Brielle and I both have albinism. We’re the only two people in our large family that have it, so we stand out like beacons among our mainly brown-haired siblings and cousins. We produce hardly any melanin, and our hair and lashes are white. If we spend more than a few minutes in the harsh New Zealand sun, our pale skin is likely to turn lobster-red. We also have to wear sunglasses outside no matter the weather, because our eyes are overly sensitive to light.
Brielle embraces her unusual looks, and she’s well known online because she’s always making videos and posting on social media, as well as holding interviews with the press.
I hate my coloring. I’ve been teased about it my whole life. Because of this, I often dye my hair. Its reaction can be unpredictable, though, which is why I settled for a wig on the night of the ball.
Our siblings love to mock us for it. Brotherly love, eh? I give Iain the finger, and he replies with a short laugh and sips his beer.
“I think it’s time,” Grandpa announces from where he’s sitting at the end of the table. He’s been his usual quiet self since we arrived, but now he stands up and calls out, “Excuse me. Can everyone who’s part of the family council please come inside.”
There are a few moments of chaos while all his children, and the grandchildren over the age of twenty-one, move into the living room. There are over twenty of us, and everyone finds somewhere to sit, perch, or stand. Grandpa sits on a stool at the front by the window, sipping from a mug of tea, the only thing I’ve ever seen him drink apart from water.
He waits patiently, still an imposing figure, his steady gaze finally quelling everyone into silence. Despite the fact that technically he should have retired years ago, he still goes to the office most days, and he continues to be the driving force behind the Rutherford Group.
Other people call him hard-hearted and ruthless, and I can see why he’s earned that reputation in business, but on a personal level he’s always been nice to me. Brielle says I’m his favorite, and although I deny it to her face, I think she might be right. I have no idea why.
The staff makes sure nobody wants anything, then withdraws, closing the big glass doors behind them. Outside, the kids are playing rugby on the lawn or splashing in the pool, and the rest of the adults glance curiously at the house as they presumably wonder what’s being discussed.
Once everyone is seated and falls quiet, Grandpa says, “First of all, I wanted to say thank you for coming to celebrate my eightieth birthday with me. It means a lot.”
“On behalf of all of us,” my father—his eldest child—says, “I just want to say happy birthday, Dad.”
“Yes, happy birthday,” we all chorus, raising our drinks to toast him.
He nods. “Thank you. I just wish Anna could be here with us.” My grandma died five years ago. “But anyway,” he continues, “I’m not an idiot; I know many of you came because of my email. And that’s fair enough. I don’t mind having to bribe you to get you to come to my party.”
Sheepish laughter ripples through the room.
“As you all know,” he says, “on the twenty-first of December, I approached Ashford AgriTech with the offer of an acquisition for three-point-two billion dollars. And you also know that they turned it down.”
My heart immediately doubles its speed. Shit. I didn’t know he’d called us here because of the Ashford Group. I’d assumed it was all over because they’d refused the acquisition.
“You also all know about the news that broke about Marcus Ashford’s marriage,” he continues.
A couple of weeks ago, the Korero website announced that schoolteacher Wren Carter had approached Caesar Ashford to ask him to father her baby. Following this, she promptly married Marcus, which led the press to assume it was carried out with the purpose of providing Marcus with an heir.
Following this, the board told Marcus he had to divorce Wren to save the company, because they knew—the same way we all do—how a business’s stability can be rocked by scandal. But Marcus refused and said he would rather resign and give up his place on the board. His father backed him and announced they would attempt to weather the situation.
Everyone at the Rutherford Group thought it was an idiotic move. Privately, I thought it was romantic, because from what I’ve seen in the photos of Marcus and Wren, they seem very much in love. I did wonder what Caesar thought about it all, though. Did he have feelings for Wren? How did he feel when she asked him to father her child? Did he refuse? Is that why she turned to Marcus? I’d love to know the truth behind the story, but I’m the last person Caesar Ashford would ever confide in.
“That was two weeks ago,” Grandpa continues. “We’ve watched the situation closely, and as we suspected, investor confidence has dipped. They’re struggling, and that’s why, yesterday, I approached Edward informally and opened discussions for another offer. I suggested a strategic partnership, rather than a full acquisition. I offered capital injection and asked for two board seats and an option to increase our equity over time.”
Low whistles sound from around the room.
“What did they say?” my father asks.
“He wanted some time to think about it. But he came back this morning, and he’s asked for a formal meeting on Friday at the Ashford offices.”
More whistles and whoops sound around the room. On the surface, everyone’s excited because it’s the first step toward a takeover, and eliminating the competition has always been the Rutherford way.
I’m excited for another reason. The Ashford pasture management technology is revolutionary, but we haven’t been able to get close to replicating it. The core system is patented, and the rest is proprietary. We could invest significant time and money in building our own system, but they’re close to owning the market as it is. Partnership would mean access to the tech, and maybe a significant improvement to the yields of our own farms as a result.
