MICHAEL SULLIVAN: NEW DYNASTY

— 4 —

The crowd parted like the Red Sea as Frank Medici made his way to a chair that had been positioned at the head of the room. He lowered himself into it carefully. His nurse moved to help him but he waved her away.

“A few of you already know why we’re gathered,” Frank began. “The doctors have given me seven months to live. I could perhaps make it to a year with aggressive treatment but that's not guaranteed.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Michael watched the siblings’ reactions: Victoria’s face a perfect mask of concern, Phillip already straightening as if preparing for something, the twins exchanging surprised glances, Maxwell looking bored, and Lizzy gone completely still.

Octavian, beside Michael, simply sighed. “So it’s true,” he murmured.

“Before I leave this world,” Frank continued, “I must ensure the Medici legacy continues in capable hands. Not just our business interests, but our history, our influence, our vision for the future.”

He gestured to his secretary, who wheeled in a cart covered with a velvet cloth.

“I have decided that my fortune will not be divided equally among my children. Instead, it will allow go to the one who proves most worthy.”

The room erupted in whispers. Phillip stepped forward. “Father, surely this isn’t necessary. We all have roles in the family business already. The succession plan—”

“—is being rewritten tonight,” Frank cut in sharply. His eyes swept the room, landing briefly on Michael before continuing. “All of my children will participate. All will have a chance.”

The emphasis on “all” wasn’t lost on anyone. Victoria’s eyes narrowed as she glanced venomously at Michael.

“Each of you will receive a gift from me,” Frank explained. “You have less than a year to use that gift to generate as much value as possible. The one who creates the most with what they’re given will inherit the majority of my estate and control of Medici Industries.”

The assistant removed the velvet cloth, revealing several items on the cart. Frank gestured for his children to gather around.

“Phillip,” Frank called first. “You receive Sterling Tech, the company we acquired last month. It has potential but needs vision.”

Phillip stepped forward, accepting a portfolio of documents with an assured smile.

“Victoria and Maxwell,” Frank continued. “You receive the Waterfront Development project. Prime real estate, ready for your renovation.”

Victoria accepted the deed and blueprints with a triumphant glance at her siblings.

“Octavian, for you, the European pharmaceutical division. It needs restructuring but has promising research.”

Octavian nodded thoughtfully as he accepted his gift.

“Mei and Feng, you receive matching penthouse properties in the Entertainment District. They wl act as the perfect bases for your social media empires.”

The twins squealed in delight.

“Elizabeth, my dear,” Frank’s voice softened slightly. “For you, the Medici Gallery. It needs your artistic touch.”

Lizzy accepted the documents with a rare smile.

Finally, all eyes turned to Michael, standing awkwardly at the edge of the family circle. Frank gestured him forward.

“And Michael,” Frank said, his voice betraying no emotion. “For you, this.”

The secretary hauled a dusty wooden box towards Michael. It was heavy, about four feet long and a foot wide. Laughter rippled through the crowd, and Michael felt his face burn with humiliation. While the others received companies and properties worth millions, he’d been given what looked like an antique chest.

“What is it?” Michael asked, trying to keep the bitterness from his voice.

“That’s for you to discover,” Frank replied. “The contest begins now. Over the coming months, I will assess your progress, right until the day you reach final esults.”

As the crowd dispersed into chattering groups, Frank gestured for Michael to approach his chair. Reluctantly, Michael stepped forward, still dragging the mysterious box along.

Frank looked him over with a strange expression. “You have her eyes,” he said quietly.

Michael stiffened. “Don’t talk about my mother.”

“You misunderstand the gift,” Frank continued as if Michael hadn’t spoken. “Potential is more valuable than possession. Remember that.”

Before Michael could respond, Victoria swooped in, positioning herself between them. “Father, you should rest now. The excitement of the evening—”

Frank waved her away irritably. “I’ll rest when I’m dead, Victoria. Which, according to these vultures you call doctors, won’t be long now.”

Michael backed away. What was the point of all this? Was all this just a show to embarrass him?

He started to rip open the box but Octavian caught his arm. “Don’t open that here,” he whispered urgently. “Wait until you’re alone. And Michael...be careful. The contest has begun, and in this family, we play to win.”

Michael nodded, suddenly eager to escape the mansion and its inhabitants. As he made his way toward the exit, he passed Phillip and Hillary in deep conversation.

“—could be anything in that box,” Hillary was saying. “Maybe it’s valuable.”

“Please,” Phillip scoffed. “Father’s just being cruel. That boy has no place here.”

Michael kept walking. Whatever game Frank Medici was playing, Michael was determined not to be the punchline.

Outside, the night air felt welcome and fresh compared to the suffocating atmosphere of the ballroom. The chauffeur appeared, ready to take him home.

“Did you have a pleasant evening, sir?” the man asked politely.

Michael looked down at the dusty box behind him, then back at the mansion.

“No, not at all,” he replied as he slid into the backseat. Meanwhile, the chauffeur lifted the box and put it in the booth. Whatever was inside, it had better be worth the humiliation he’d endured tonight.