The Hidden Trillionaire Heir

Chapter 7

Arthur Hastings called Ashford Tower at nine o'clock on Monday morning, and he did not ask for Richard.

"Good morning," the receptionist answered brightly. "Ashford Group. How may I direct your call?"

"Hastings Industries. Arthur Hastings. I'd like to speak with Ethan."

The receptionist froze.

"I'm sorry, sir. Which Ethan?"

"Ethan Ashford. The young man who handles my account."

"Oh. Um. One moment, please."

She put him on hold and ran to the executive floor.

Richard was in his office with Lucas. They were reading a report about the new warehouse plan. Lucas had a pen in his hand and a polite, serious look on his face.

"Mr. Ashford?" the receptionist whispered at the door. "Arthur Hastings is on the line. He's asking for Ethan."

Richard's face went hard.

"Tell him Ethan no longer works here."

"He insists on speaking to him."

"Then give me the phone."

He picked up the receiver.

"Arthur. Richard Ashford. What can I do for you?"

"Richard." The voice was dry and old. "Where's Ethan?"

"He's no longer with the company."

A long silence.

"Since when?"

"Since this weekend."

"Why?"

"It's a family matter."

"I see." Hastings paused. "Richard, I've done business with your company for twenty years. My renewal is in six weeks. I want to be honest with you."

"Of course."

"I signed with Ashford because of that young man. I never cared about the name. I cared about the boy who called me at midnight to say a truck would be late. He told me the truth when it was bad. Nobody else in your company does that."

Richard's grip tightened on the phone.

"I assure you, Arthur, the company is in good hands."

"Whose?"

"Mine. And my son's."

"Your son."

"Lucas. He just returned to us."

"Ah." Hastings's voice was careful. "I've read about that. A very happy story."

"It is."

"I'd like to meet him."

"Of course. Whenever you like."

"Next week. I'll bring my lawyer."

"That isn't necessary."

"I think it is," Hastings replied. "Good morning, Richard."

The line clicked.

Richard stared at the phone for a long moment.

"What did he want?" Lucas asked lightly.

"He's nervous."

"About what?"

"About the renewal." Richard put the receiver down. "He wants Ethan."

Lucas smiled.

It was a warm, friendly smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

"Dad, don't worry. I can handle Mr. Hastings."

"Can you?"

"Of course. I've been studying the file." Lucas patted the folder on the desk. "Everything he needs is right here."

"Ethan used to say..."

"I know what Ethan used to say." Lucas's voice stayed soft. "But Ethan isn't here. I am."

Richard looked at him for a second.

Something small and uneasy moved in the back of his mind.

Then he shook it off.

"Good," he muttered. "You'll handle it."

"I promise."

"Don't disappoint me."

It was a small thing to say. He had ordered Ethan around with those words a hundred times. This time, it felt different. Richard noticed that he sounded a little less sure.

"I won't," Lucas replied sweetly.

He walked out of the office with the folder under his arm.

In the hall, he stopped in front of the window and took out his phone.

Hastings called. He wants the boy. He's bringing a lawyer next week.

The reply came back in seconds.

Good. Let him come. Make sure he is disappointed.

Lucas read it twice.

Then he looked at the blue notebook in his bag. Hastings's name was on the first page.

Likes personal calls. Never send email first. Has a granddaughter named Rose. Ask about her.

He smiled again.

Thanks, Ethan, he thought. You've made this so easy.

  *

At the same time, forty blocks away, Ethan sat in the Atlas boardroom with a cup of black coffee and a stack of reports.

His phone buzzed.

It was a message from an unknown number.

He frowned and opened it.

Hello, my boy. I'm sorry to bother you. I heard what happened. Please call me when you can. Arthur Hastings.

Ethan's hand froze on the phone.

How did he get my number?

Then he remembered. Six months ago, in a hospital waiting room, Ethan had given the old man his private number. Hastings's wife had been sick. Ethan had sat with him for four hours.

His chest tightened.

He read the message again.

Then, slowly, he turned the phone face down on the table.

"Mr. Chairman?" Helen asked from across the room. "Is something wrong?"

"No."

"You look pale."

"It's nothing."

He picked up his pen and went back to the report.

His hand was shaking.

He hated that he still cared.

At noon, Helen Ford walked into his new office with a stack of folders.

It was a big room on the hundred and fifth floor. It had a long desk, a leather chair, and a view of the whole harbor. Ethan still hadn't sat in the chair. He kept standing by the window.

"These are the first quarterly reports," Helen told him. "The Singapore division. The Rotterdam division. Energy. Banking."

"Thank you."

"Take your time."

"I don't need much."

She raised her eyebrows.

He opened the first folder and started reading. It took him eleven minutes. Then he picked up a pen, circled something on page six, and slid the report back across the desk.

"What's this?" Helen asked.

"The shipping rate to Singapore went up eight percent in March."

"Yes. Fuel costs."

"Fuel costs only went up three percent."

Helen blinked.

"Where did the other five go?"

"I don't know yet. But somebody is charging the company more than they should."

She looked at the page.

Then she looked at him.

"I've been the CFO for nine years," she whispered. "I never saw that."

"You weren't looking at the small numbers."

"No."

"Nobody ever does." Ethan shrugged. "That's where people hide things."

Helen sat down slowly in the chair across from him.

"Mr. Chairman, may I tell you something?"

"Please call me Ethan."

"I'd rather not. It wouldn't be respectful."

"Then tell me anyway."

"When your grandfather first told us you were coming, most of us were afraid." She folded her hands in her lap. "We thought we would be working for a spoiled boy who had never earned a thing."

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"You didn't." She smiled, a little sadly. "I think you've worked harder in your life than anyone in this building. And I think you've never once been told so."

Ethan looked away.

His eyes stung.

"Thank you," he whispered.

"Don't mention it."

She stood up and straightened her jacket.

"One more thing. The Singapore port manager called this morning. A Mr. Tan. He asked for the new chairman. He wants to say hello."

Ethan smiled for the first time all day.

"Put him through."

The old man's voice came through the speaker, warm and crackling.

"Mr. Ethan? Is that really you?"

"It's me, Mr. Tan."

"They told me you were the owner now. The big boss. I almost fell off my chair." Mr. Tan laughed softly. "I wanted to tell you that the shipment went through. Your sister called. A little late, but she tried."

"I'm glad."

"Will you still call me at four in the morning?"

"Every time."

"Good," the old man replied. "Then I'm not retiring."