Ten years earlier
Beau already knew the contract across the conference table backward and forward, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it. From upside-down, the empty line awaiting his signature glimmered—as if a spotlight from the heavens shone directly on it. In actuality, it was fluorescent glare from the office building’s overhead lights.
His palm sweat around the pen in his hand. This was it—his moment. After weeks of negotiation, he and the other men at the table had come to an agreement that would turn Beau from broke, wannabe entrepreneur to wealthy, established businessman.
A lawyer read the contract aloud. George Wright, founder of VenTech and soon-to-be owner of Beau’s revolutionary payment services website, sat in a chair opposite Beau. He glanced at Beau and then at his watch. “Is there much more?”
“We’re on the last page,” someone said.
Every seat was filled. Each side of the table had at least one lawyer and banker. Against common practice, Beau hadn’t brought a negotiator to any of their meetings. Getting people to concede to him was a skill he planned to use going forward, so instead, he’d spent hours in the library teaching himself the art of negotiation and deciphering the contract’s terms himself. Once, he’d even asked a pretty brunette to move down a spot so he could have more space.
To his left sat the best lawyer he could afford. Which was to say, a midlevel associate named Harold Grubman whose nickname was Harry Grubs—information he’d volunteered to Beau when they’d met. But Beau had little choice, considering he was thousands of dollars in debt, and his credit cards were nearly maxed. Harold had taken a risk accepting Beau as a client, knowing if the deal fell through, Beau wouldn’t have anything to pay him with. The inverse was also true, though, and if today went as they both hoped, Beau had promised Grubman a cut that’d earn him more than his yearly salary. So, Grubs it was.
Nobody was talking anymore. They were all looking at Beau, most notably the George Wright, whose eyebrows were raised.
Beau loosened his tie a little, the lights beating down on him. He turned to Grubman, who nodded and said, “Sign.”
The lawyer flipped the packet around and slid it right in front of them. Beau blinked once and signed away the last decade of his life.
It’d taken Beau seven tries to get to this exact spot. In ten years, four of his ideas had been perfectly on target. So much so, that others had beaten him to the finish line in his final stages of securing investors. One company he’d started had been a total bust—and a lesson that desperation wasn’t the right motivator for him. Lastly, he’d been on the verge of selling a B2B website, only to have it fall through two days before it was finalized. He’d spent too much on that lawyer.
The ink of his signature hadn’t even dried before the contract was picked up, placed into a folder and whisked out the door by one of the lawyers. The transaction was complete—lucky number seven had sold. For most, the concept was boring—the payment services site he’d developed would transform the way online businesses accepted money over the web. But for Beau, it was fascinating. Internet companies were growing at an exponential rate, and in the right hands, every online shopping cart would have a checkout option that included Beau’s company.
His former company. Beau had considered growing it himself, but fascinating as it was, he was brimming with ideas. He was ready to move on, and VenTech was offering him over three times what the website was worth at this point. He’d signed it over to give it a better life—and so he could start the next thing. With the fortune he had now, there’d be no stopping him.
327 million dollars. Beau thought he might pass out. He set the pen down, wiping his hand on his pant leg.
Wright stood, glancing at the clock above Beau’s head. “It’s six o’clock now. The transfer has already been arranged, and the first payment will be deposited into your account at midnight. The rest will come soon after.” He reached out and shook Beau’s hand. “Good luck, kid. Maybe we’ll see you in here again.”
Beau and Grubman took the elevator down to the lobby, where they passed security and stepped out into the mild night. The Metro Local hissed as it pulled up to the curb a block over. Beau made a move to go after it, but he stopped himself.
“Never have to take the bus again, son.”
Beau looked back at Grubman, who was smiling for maybe the second time since they’d met. “Good,” Beau said. He hated the bus vehemently.
“So, what’re you going to do now?” Grubman asked.
“I have no idea,” Beau said. “Tomorrow, I start research on my next project, but…” He stuck his hands in his trouser pockets. “I hadn’t really thought about tonight.”
“If I were you, I’d take a damn break. Pick up my girl and waltz my ass into the ritziest joint in Beverly Hills for a juicy porterhouse. I’d liquor her up good, then go home and fuck her brains out. That’s a celebration for a rich man.”
Beau just stared at him. He’d barely seen a girl in months besides Brigitte. She was practically his sister and therefore didn’t count. That didn’t mean Beau didn’t think about girls, though—frequently. “I’m single.”
Grubman’s face fell, and he actually shuddered. “You lucky son of a bitch,” he said. “Twenty-seven years old, and you just signed a lifelong deal for pussy. Blonde, brunette, redhead, black, white, Asian—any kind you want. You lucky son of a—”
“I get it.” Beau’s heart palpitated, and he implored it not to give out—not now that he’d arrived. It’d been ten months and twelve days since he’d last gotten laid. That was the toll 327 million dollars took. No small price to pay. If he thought a second too long about any kind of fucking, he’d have to hobble home with his hands covering his crotch.
“Well,” Grubman said, sweeping an arm, presenting Beau the world, “get on it, son. City of Angels is your oyster.” He shook his head with a forced chuckle. “Female population’d better watch out. There’s no more dangerous animal in the world than a man with new power.”
Beau nodded once at Grubman, glad to get rid of him once and for all. He held out his hand. “Thanks for all your help. I’ll put your check in the mail as soon as the money clears.”
“You better, don’t want me on your bad side. My profession is going after snakes. Feel free to tip too.” He laughed nervously, looking sidelong at Beau. “You know, you’re going to need a lawyer now more than ever. You already know you can trust me, and—well, trust me, that’s going to become an issue for you.”
People like Harold Grubman were necessary stops along his way to the top. Harry wasn’t the kind of man you carried through life if you didn’t have to, though. Beau stuck his hand back in his pocket and backed away. “I have your card.”
