“Nan?”
“Good morning, America!” she sing-songs “I always wanted to say that, thought I’d never get the chance, but here we all are. Well, I’m here and you’re there, but I’m sure you get my meaning. Made it by the skin of my teeth, I did. Not that I’ve had those in ages.” She sounds delighted and happy. And slightly mad hatters.
Nan is sitting in a green leather wingback chair that dwarfs her, making her seem like a small child. She’s got on a navy suit jacket and a necklace with a brooch twice the size of a two-pence coin. Her hair is perfectly coiffed and her eyes are bright.
All of which might be perfectly normal, except that she’s on the telly in the board room of the American company I work at while I’m making apologies for fucking up. And every board member is looking from her to me, me to her, with varying shades of confusion and amusement.
Perfect. Just what I need. Another nail in the coffin of my time at Fox. I went off to stand on my own two feet and faltered massively. And now my Nan is somehow stepping in?
Sinking into the floor, or maybe jumping out this wall of windows behind me, is the only thing that can save me now.
Allan looks to Janet, who shrugs. She’s done her part, I suppose, got the tech up and running. Yeah, thanks for that, Janet!
“Excuse me, ma’am. I’m Allan Fox of Fox Industries. And you are . . .?” He trails off, the epitome of polite expectation.
“Dorothy Seymour, of the London Seymours. And that rascal’s grandmother. Oh, the stories I could tell about that one!” She chuckles and shakes her head. “Always a smart boy, my Coltie. Straight As without even studying, beat his brother’s arse a time or two.” She whispers out the side of her mouth as though sharing a secret with Allan alone, but the entire room hears. “Eddie deserved that, though, for sure. I made fifty pence on that fight, wagered with Alfred, I did. He’s the house assistant, you see. Did you know he graduated with honors from Oxford? Coltie, not Alfred, of course. But I’m sure you knew that from his CV. Yes, my Coltie is such a good boy.”
Her eyes find me, full of love and joy. The rest of the board is bordering on abject horror at her rambling outburst. I’m again contemplating jumping out the window. Though they’re probably locked and secure for just such an urge. Maybe I can walk out with my head held high, fly over the pond, and ask Nan face-to-face what the fuck she’s doing?
No time for that, though. “Nan, what are you doing?” I beg her to stop with a glare, but she can’t, or doesn’t, see it.
Allan smiles. “Lovely to meet you, Ms. Seymour. I did know that about Colton, quite an impressive resume he came with. But I’m afraid we are handling some rather serious business here and I’m not sure this is the time to wax poetic about his attributes. Perhaps we could discuss these things privately at a later time?”
Dear God. Allan is playing nice with Nan, placating her like you do the crazy people who assault you on the London Tube to beg for coins.
Nan waves her hand at him. “Oh, pish posh, don’t call me Ms. Seymour. That was my mother, and I’m much too young for that nonsense. Call me Nan like everyone does.” She smiles congenially like this is a kind offer Allan should thank her for. “And we have some business to conduct, Mr. Fox, so perhaps we should get to it.”
Nan is mad, but perhaps it’s in the best of ways? One can only hope, I suppose.
“And what business is that, Ms. Sey—” At her pointed glare and pressed lips, Allan corrects himself. “Uh, Nan?”
“The Estate, of course.” Nan’s brows drop together, scanning Allan as he might be the daft one. “I’m sure Coltie’s told you about the land and his desire to build a new headquarters of your company here. And I rather like the idea, seeing as it gets my boy home to me. Along with his sweetie, Elle. I do like that girl. Did you know she taught my granddaughter how to kick a boy in the bollocks?”
Her expression glazes over, going distant for a moment, before returning. “Yep, I do fancy Elle, too. Anywho . . . getting your little company here on the Estate gets my boy to me, and his sweetie with him, so I consider that a win all the way around, wouldn’t you?”
“Nan, please. I did explain about the Estate and that while I do own the land now, the council will not approve the zoning changes, so it’s a moot point. I’ve suggested that we consider finding a secondary site in London—”
“You’ll do nothing of the sort, boy. There’s nothing in London that’ll work like the Estate, anyway.”
If I could reach through the telly screen, I would shake her. Hug her, and then shake her, and then hug her again. A secondary site is my only move in this proposal race, and she just torpedoed it.
Allan’s lips press together, losing all patience for whatever shitshow this is. “Well, I do thank you for your candor, Nan. If that’s the case, perhaps we’ll continue on with our other option and build out in Tennessee.”
Nan leans forward, too close to the camera, and all we see is a close-up of her eye. She’s got a dried-up eye bogie that makes me blink hard as I recoil. “Are you daft, man? I just said the Estate is perfect.”
She didn’t say that at all. No one argues with her.
“Here, maybe this will help. Mr. Hamish? You’re up. Make these American blokes see the good sense their Mums didn’t bless them with.”
And now she’s insulting Mr. Fox. Bloody brilliant, Nan.
Mr. Hamish comes on screen, perching on the arm of Nan’s leather chair uncomfortably. He waves awkwardly, but he at least seems professional in his proper suit and tie.
“Hello. I’m Harold Hamish, an attorney for the family. Perhaps I can help clear up any . . . misunderstandings?” He looks to Nan, not saying that she’s nutters, but we’re all thinking it.
“Allan Fox. Please do explain, Mr. Hamish. Quickly, if you can.”
He nods and clears his throat, holding up a piece of paper. “I’ve been the family attorney for decades, my father before me and my grandfather before that. It was my grandfather who originally wrote this particular trust. It seems Colton Wolfe inherited the land upon his grandfather’s passing, but until recently, it was being managed under the larger family trust. Colton’s activation of his rights under the trust had me taking a second look and visiting with Ms. Seymour . . . I mean, Nan.”
Her angry face melts back to glazed happiness.
But she interrupts Mr. Hamish. “You’re taking too long to tell it. I’m going to die of old age before you get to the part about Coltie coming home and giving me grandbabies.”
My head thunks to the table. It doesn’t make what she just said disappear, so I do it again for good measure. Thunk. Nope, still happened.
“Nan.” I’m begging, pleading for her to stop.
She winks at me as if having the time of her life. “So Mr. Hamish brought some things to my attention about the trust, or shall I say trusts. We’re rather wealthier than God himself over here, and it does get tiresome trying to manage things. Mary, that’s my daughter, was supposed to be handling things because she’s my heir, but she’s got a rather poor constitution, that one.” She shakes her head sadly. “Not sure where she gets it from because her father was stout stock and I’m perfectly willing and able to fight for what’s right.”
She smiles a shark smile at Allan. “Like now. With Mary not doing things properly and letting Edwin . . . that’s her louse of a husband and Coltie’s father . . . run roughshod over good sense, I’m taking back ownership over the whole lot of it.”
Her words don’t sink in at first. But slowly, they start to make sense, just a little, to me.
You see, our family money, the one that gives us station, power, and relevance throughout London, comes from the Seymour side of the family tree. From Nan.
Mum married Father, who came from what was an upper-crust family to be sure, but it was nothing like her own family. He suddenly became the big-shot power of the family, putting Mum in her place and taking control of everything. I never questioned it as a boy. It was just how marital dynamics worked to my mind because of their parental example. Mum lunched and did charity business, and Father ran the business side of things.
But it was never his business to run. It was Nan’s. And before that, her own father’s. He was the one who got the contract during World War II that changed everything for our family, turning riches into utterly massive wealth.
“I’m of sound mind and fit body, so I’m doing it my own self. With Mr. Hamish’s help, of course. Oh, and I’m hiring a private manager to assist me because I’m much too busy with my roses for all that daily nonsense about facts and figures. I mean, who cares about the stock market closings?”
Lots of people, Nan. But it’s a small percentage of the family portfolio, so we can basically play the stock market like most people play quarter slot machines.
“But Mary, and by extension, Edwin, will no longer get their greedy little paws on my Papa’s money. Well, I’m not a monster. Perhaps I’ll give them an allowance. Hold it over their heads the way Edwin did everything he gave my Coltie.” She looks rather gleeful at the prospect.
I stand up, needing her attention, needing to stop this hope from blooming inside me if I’m misunderstanding. “Nan? For fuck’s sake, spit it out already. What have you done? The council . . .”
She waves at me, her hand dropping at the wrist like ‘oh, them.’ As if the town council is nothing but fodder. “Edwin has friends in high places, rest assured of that. And it seems he leveraged that to make sure you wouldn’t get the approvals you need. What he forgot is that I’ve got friends in even higher places, and hell, half of his friends prefer me over that old blowhard, anyway. So they were quite happy to make me happy, which left Edwin’s threats as useless as he is.”
Allan jumps in at that. “Are you saying that Colton owns this property dead to rights, and you’ve worked it so that the restrictions he’s said will hamstring us are no longer an issue?”
Nan rolls her eyes, and I wonder how much time she’s been spending with Lizzie. On a sigh, she says, “That’s what I said at the beginning. Build your little company headquarters here and bring my Coltie home to me, and his Elle, too, and we’re all happy.” She looks to Mr. Hamish, speaking quieter but not nearly quiet enough. “I said that. Is the man daft? I’m worried about Coltie working for a man who can’t understand basic business.”
If she wasn’t giving me, and Allan, the golden goose on a silver platter, I’d be worried he’d take offense. As it sits, his face is damn near beaming, seemingly happy to let Nan insult him and call his life’s work a ‘little company’ if it makes good business sense.
Allan turns back to the table, clasping his hands in front of him. “Ladies and gentleman, I think we’ve heard two rather interesting proposals on where to take Fox Industries in the next phase. Shall we vote?”
We don’t even need to. The direction is readily apparent, and if anyone was considering raising their hand for the Tennessee option, Nan’s dagger-filled glare surely had them second-guessing their vote.
“That’s majority,” Allan decrees.
Actually, that’s not true. It wasn’t a majority vote. It was unanimous, even Daniel raising his hand for Fox to build HQ2 in London, though I know it had to kill him . . . to lose the HQ2 race and because he knows that Elle will go to London with me.
“We’ll adjourn for now, though I’d like to speak with Colton and Daniel. And you as well, Nan, if you can wait one moment? I’d like to hammer out the details of this deal while we’re all here. Mr. Hamish, let me call for our corporate lawyer too.”
“Gary England, Allan. He’s been instrumental in this proposal and is very familiar with the ins and outs of the trust and British law at this point.”
Allan nods to Janet, who’s been standing off to the side, watching the whole circus in case of technical difficulties. “Can you fetch Gary for me, please?” She nods and virtually runs from the room. I have no doubt that she’s already spreading the gossip along the vine as she goes. By the time we leave this room, the whole company will know . . .
. . . that my family is richer than God himself, according to Nan.
. . . that my father is an arse who tried to stop me from succeeding.
. . . that Nan rushed in to save me and might be utterly mad.
. . . that I’m expected to move to London, run HQ2, and have grandbabies with Elle.
. . . that I couldn’t be happier about any of it.
And I don’t care who knows it. Share it all, Janet! Save me the trouble, please.
I do take the quick moment while Allan and Janet speak to turn to Daniel, though. “You voted for my proposal? Why?”
Daniel tilts his head. “I’m competitive by nature. And like your Nan, I’ll fight for what I think is right. It wasn’t about besting you, or not entirely about it, at least. I truly thought Tennessee was right for Fox, for all the reasons I explained in my own presentation.”
His pause is painful, making me lean forward in anticipation. “But . . . ?”
“Until I heard your full proposal. HQ2 belongs in London, and you belong at its head as Regional President.” He offers me his hand, and I shake gratefully. There’s still a bit too much squeezing, jockeying for dominance, but it’s in good-natured fun. Mostly.
He uses his leverage on my hand to pull me forward, growling in my ear. “I voted for London, but I’m still not sure about you for my daughter just yet. She’s all I have, and if you hurt her, I will kill you.”
I lean back, putting precious inches between us so that if I need to, I can at least get a punch in. He’s glaring at me hard, but there’s the slightest light in his eyes. A light that looks shockingly similar to his daughter when she knows she’s won and can’t help but gloat about it, at least a little bit.
But he’s lost the HQ2 race, so what has he won? Perhaps some happiness for his daughter, and he knows it.
I wink. “I dare you to try.”
His lips quirk, fighting the smile he wants to flash as he tries to maintain his badass persona. I give him the absolute truth so that he can smile freely. “I will never hurt her. I love her. And if I do, I’ll gladly stand still so you can kill me slowly and painfully.”
He does smile at that. “Deal.”
