The big circular office with all its obscure art decor wasn't only a prison, but a minute ago it turned into hell when Victor Vance, the deputy president, strode inside my office and sat promptly across from me. I was dreading the moment his mouth opened. Knowing what it would say was just not for the hearing.
"Well, sonny boy," Victor began, his voice a low, grating purr that seemed to relish the silence, "didn't the old man not think this far? He thought that..." He paused, a sneer twisting his lips. "He thought that just because he pulled the rug out from under me yesterday, he could control everything. He thought he could just give you this throne, and you'd sit on it like the good little puppet I once was."
My jaw tightened. Yesterday morning. That was when the announcement came down – not that he'd been fired, but that his "services were no longer required" as deputy president, a thinly veiled dismissal engineered by Grandpa himself. Victor had clung to that position, a desperate gasp for influence in a conglomerate he'd always yearned to truly command, a vast enterprise he'd married into but was never allowed to fully steer. I knew Grandpa had never truly trusted him, had never considered him fit to lead. My grandfather, for all his sternness, was the only real family I'd ever truly known, besides my children. He was the anchor in my chaotic childhood, the one constant presence of true authority I respected. Unlike the man across from me.
"I was never the one with the real power, Father," I countered, my voice flat, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a rise. The words felt hollow, like a stage whisper in this absurdly grand office. The truth was, even as "deputy president," he'd been nothing more than a figurehead, a puppet controlled by Grandpa's commanding ownership and an iron will. A bitter, cold seed of resentment had always festered between them, a history I only ever saw in the old man's dismissive gaze when my father spoke.
Victor scoffed, a dry, rasping sound. "President, deputy president – semantics. The point is, he always kept me on a leash. Couldn't make a move without his blessing. He never saw me as anything more than a worker, a means to an end, just to 'protect the family image,'" he sneered, quoting my grandfather's often-repeated mantra. "He always hated me, distrusted me, for reasons you're too naive to grasp." He paused, his gaze hardening. "But you, James…" His eyes, cold and calculating, raked over me. "He put you here. The golden boy. The successor. The one who carries his daughter's blood, even if she couldn't give it to you herself."
A cold shock ran through me. That last phrase, whispered like a secret curse, was a jab I hadn't expected. I knew I was born via surrogacy, a fact always delivered with a clinical detachment, devoid of warmth or explanation. But my father never spoke of my mother, his wife, with such a stark, almost accusatory tone. It was a dark, unacknowledged corner of my past, a space where silence always reigned. The sheer disdain in his voice for "the old man's daughter" hinted at a deeper, unspoken conflict, a family wound I barely understood.
"He probably thinks he can control you too," Victor continued, oblivious to the ripple his words had sent through me, "mold you into the perfect company man, just like he tried with her. But you're different, aren't you? You're malleable. You'll let me pull the strings from the shadows, won't you? We can finally run this company the way it should be run, not according to the whims of a dying tyrant."
Just as the venomous offer hung in the air, the double doors to my office swung open with an almost theatrical, perfectly synchronized flourish.
Clement, Clint, and Chad entered in a single, impossibly straight line. They moved with a soft, padded shuffle, their charcoal suits unrumpled, their expressions identical masks of polite, yet unwavering, efficiency. Clement led the charge, a pristine silver tray held aloft, bearing a single, steaming teacup. Clint followed, clutching a tablet like it held the secrets to the universe. Chad brought up the rear, his hands clasped behind his back as if guarding an invisible treasure. There wasn't a hair out of place, not a crease in their perfectly ironed shirts.
They halted in unison, precisely three feet from my desk.
"Pardon the interruption, Mr. Vance," Clement announced, his voice a smooth, low hum that utterly failed to match the furious tension radiating from my father. "A gentle reminder of your schedule. The deputy president is requesting a call on Line One." He gestured subtly to the phone on my desk.
Clint, without missing a beat, stepped forward, his tablet glowing with an almost celestial light. "And the four o'clock meeting has been set with X. Company, per Grandpa's priority directives."
Chad, still with his hands behind his back, simply offered a profound, silent nod, first to me, then – with a fleeting, almost imperceptible glance – to my father, as if bestowing a bureaucratic blessing upon our deeply awkward staredown. It was as if they hadn't seen the furious, simmering hatred between us, or perhaps, they were simply programmed to ignore it. They were the personification of unwavering professionalism, a bizarre, comical ballet of corporate servitude.
My father, Victor, blinked, his perfectly cultivated sneer momentarily faltering. The sudden, absurd, and impeccably timed interruption had clearly thrown him off his stride. He looked from the three identical men to me, then back to them, as if they were a particularly baffling exhibit of modern art.
"And who... are these?" he managed, a flicker of bewildered irritation in his tone.
"My 'helps,' Father," I said, unable to keep the dry amusement out of my voice, a rare moment of levity amidst the gloom. "Sent by Grandpa. To ensure my timely and efficient ascent to... whatever this is. And it seems, to manage your calls as well."
The corners of Victor's mouth then stretched into a thin, fake polite smile, one that never quite reached his eyes. He slowly pushed himself up from the chair, smoothing his suit jacket. "Ah, yes. The grandfather's little army. Always so... thorough," he purred, the word lingering like a veiled insult, implying both their meddling and my lack of control. "Well, James, I see you're in excellent hands. I merely wanted to offer my... guidance." He straightened, looking around the opulent office. "This is quite the burden, isn't it? A weighty crown, indeed. Do try not to let it crush you."
His tone was perfectly courteous, yet every word was a deliberate barb. He made a show of stepping back, nodding respectfully to Clement, Clint, and Chad who, as if on cue, parted to allow him passage to the door. Victor paused there, his hand on the polished brass, and gave me one last, condescending smirk that was meant to be a polite farewell but felt entirely like a mocking dismissal.
"Do keep well, sonny boy," he added, his voice dripping with false concern, "One wouldn't want to disappoint the old man so soon after the grand coronation, would one?"
Then, with a final, almost exaggeratedly graceful turn, he exited, leaving the doors to swing silently shut behind him. The air in the room, however, still vibrated with the residue of his contempt for Victor. I, on the other hand, felt a subtle shift. Disappoint the old man? My grandfather? That was a challenge I might actually welcome. His expectations were something I could respect, something I could work towards. Unlike the empty promises and bitter machinations of my father. Only the calm, unblinking presence of Clement, Clint, and Chad remained, utterly unaffected, like perfectly polished statues in the wake of a storm.
Clint started reading the agenda for today when he suddenly stopped reading.
"Sir, umm...a certain message secretly delivered to deputy president was intercepted by our Intel's do you want me to read it to you?"
"Well what is it about,let's see what the old man was up to?"
"A certain vance estates case which is being handled personally by the deputy president was brought to office for discussion today at 1 ,looking for revision of terms"
"Well cancel my meetings we have somewhere to be it seems,tell the deputy president my deepest apology for the delay I would personally come to his house tonight to conclude the project in person"