Overnight Empire: The Rise Of Ethan Cross

Laughing and Being Given a Choice To Laugh

Halloway had warned him news travelled fast in certain circles, and he was right. Within a week, whispers about a nobody who'd bought Meridian Holdings and humbled Vince Keller In broad daylight reached exactly the ears Ethan wanted — including, eventually, a young foreman who'd once made a nineteen-year-old day laborer kneel in wet concrete and bark like a dog for asking to be paid on time.

"Sir," Cole Construction's senior partner said carefully over the phone, "the papers are already filed. Cross Holdings has acquired an eighty percent stake overnight. He's requested a full staff meeting at the site this morning."

"That's impossible," Brandon Cole said. "My father built that company from nothing. Nobody buys it without us not knowing."

"Sir, he's already at the site."

Brandon arrived to find Ethan standing exactly where the old foreman's shed used to be, wearing a suit that cost more than Brandon's car, surrounded by the whole crew, none of them who had been told why they'd been gathered.

"You," Brandon said, recognition finally landing. "You're the temp. The one my father's foreman used to—"

"Kneel in the mud and bark for a day's wage," Ethan said, loud enough for the crew to hear. "Yes. That was me. Some of you were here for it." Several workers shifted, remembering. "I'm not angry at any one of you. You were following orders from a man who liked hurting people who couldn't say no."

"This is a joke," Brandon said. "You're going to be arrested for fraud by lunch."

"Check your phone."

Brandon did, and watched his father's number lit up, and answered it standing in front of forty of his own employees, and went pale as he listened.

It was true, but Brandon didn't want to believe it. He couldn't argue with his father before the call disconnected. He was ready to fight with his father for it, but it was already too late.

"He confirmed it," Brandon said finally, quietly. "He sold his stake. Said you offered triple market value and he took it before I could even find out."

"Your father's a smart man," Ethan said. "He saw what was coming and got out clean. You're the only one who didn't."

Brandon was humbled at that spot. He couldn't do anything but listen.

A woman near the front of the crowd, arms folded, spoke up before Brandon could recover. "With respect, Mr Cross, some of us have heard promises like this before. New owner, big speech, and six months later it's the same as it always was."

Ethan turned to her. "Fair. What's your name?"

"Denise. I've run the scheduling desk here for nine years."

"Denise, here's what's different. Every wage increase I've authorized this morning I'd already in the payroll system, effective this pay period. Every open safety complaint on file gets a third-party review by the end of the month, paid for by Cross Holdings, not Cole Construction's insurance company. And I'm putting my own cell number on the break room wall. If anything changes back to what it used to be, you call me directly, and I promise it won't be the same as it always was, because I'll be the one answering."

Denise studied him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, unconvinced but willing to wait and see, which was more than Ethan had expected from on this site an hour ago.

Somewhere behind Ethan, a worker in a faded orange vest — the same man Ethan now recognized, who'd been ordered to fetch a bucket of mud that day years ago — muttered something under his breath that carried just far enough to be heard. Brandon's eyes cut toward him, and for a moment the old reflex flared, the instinct to snap at whoever had spoken out of turn. He caught himself. It was the first time in the conversation he'd caught himself at anything.

"Why?," Brandon asked, quieter now, the fight starting to leave his voice. "You've already ruined Keller. What did I ever cost you that Keller didn't cost you worse?

"You want my honest answer?"

"I want any answer."

"Keller hurt me because hurting people was his entire business model," Ethan said. "You hurt me for entertainment. You made a nineteen-year-old kneel in wet concrete and bark like a dog in front of forty coworkers because it was a slow afternoon and you were bored. Keller, at least, thought he was collecting a debt. You were just having fun."

The crew had gone very still, the kind that happens when everyone present remembers the exact same afternoon and none of them had ever said so out loud.

"That was a joke," Brandon said, and he now seemed to hear how thin it sounded now. "You laughed too. Everyone laughed."

"I laughed because the alternative was losing a day's wage I couldn't afford to lose," Ethan said. "There's a difference between laughing and being given a choice to laugh. You've never once had to learn that difference, because nobody's ever made you."

Brandon looked around that crew again, searching for a single face that would back him up, and found none. Even the men who used to laugh along weren't laughing now.

"So what happens to me," he said finally.