Chapter 49 49

Chapter 49 49
CAESAR LAURENT

I arrived at the office just past noon.

The driver pulled to a sharp halt at the curb. I stepped out, the midday heat hitting me as I adjusted my jacket and straightened my cuffs. Another car pulled in behind mine, the engine cutting out just as I reached the halfway point to the entrance.

“Caesar.”

That voice.

I turned to see Aaron strolling toward me. His hands were buried in his pockets, his stride unhurried and loose, as if he owned the sidewalk and the air above it.

“Caesar,” he said again, closing the distance between us. He glanced at the security guards stationed at the entrance, then back at me. “Can we talk somewhere?”

I stayed rooted, my own hands in my pockets, refusing to give him an inch of movement. “Say whatever you need to say here.”

Aaron’s jaw tightened, a momentary flicker of irritation, but he forced a smile. “Fine.”

He adjusted his tie, taking his time. “I just think it’s interesting how Father suddenly became curious about my activities. I wonder who could have mentioned them.”

My teeth clamped down hard. Father.

“Was it you?” Aaron tilted his head. “Or was it the missus?”

I didn’t answer.

“I’m guessing Iris,” he continued. “She seemed... talkative the other night. But then again, you were the one who married her. So maybe it was a team effort.”

“Take your grievances to your boss,” I said. “Don’t bother me with it.”

I turned to walk away, the conversation finished.

“Are you still hurt you’re not an only child?”

The words forced me to a stop.

Aaron stepped closer, his voice dropping just enough that only I could hear. “It’s a shame you don’t consider me family, Caesar. The sky is big enough for two Laurent heirs.”

“Shut up.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“There is only one heir,” I said, the words coming out sharp. “And that’s me. You’re the bastard son of an alcoholic who couldn’t be bothered to stay sober long enough to raise you.”

Aaron’s smile vanished, replaced by a gaze so cold I could see the raw rage underneath. Then, he let out a j.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit harsh?”

“No.” I stepped into his space, forcing him to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact. “The day you stop coveting what isn’t yours and accept your place, maybe then we can get along. But if you refuse—”I leaned in and whispered.

“—I’ll crush you like the insect you are.”

I walked past him without waiting for a response.

The security guards nodded as I entered the building. “Good afternoon, Mr. Laurent.”

I walked past them without responding, heading towards the elevator that sealed me inside once I entered. I leaned back against the wall and exhaled, a long, slow breath meant to purge Aaron’s face from my mind.

It didn’t work.

Every time I looked at him, I was dragged back to that day. Nineteen years old. I’d been home from university for the summer, the house feeling like a prison two years after my mother’s death.

Father had summoned me to his study without preamble. He was sitting behind the mahogany desk, a glass of whiskey sweating in his hand when I entered. “Sit,” he commanded.

I sat.

He studied me for a long moment, then said, “There’s something you need to know.”

I waited, willing my heart to stop thudding in my ears.

“You have a half-brother.” He announced, studying my face but the words hadn’t registered.

“What?”

“His name is Aaron Mercer. He’s sixteen. His mother is a woman I was involved with years ago.” Victor took a sip of his drink. “She kept him from me. But recently, she reached out. She wants money.”

I stared at him. “A half-brother.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re just telling me this now?”

“I’m telling you now because it’s relevant.” He set the glass down with a heavy thud. “Aaron will not be acknowledged publicly. He will not carry the name or inherit the estate. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless you give me a reason to push you aside.” He leaned back, his shadow stretching across the desk. “You know I hate weakness, Caesar. And so far, you haven’t exactly been the son I envisioned taking over this empire.”

“Father, I—”

“Men like Aaron, who grow up on the outside, are dangerous. They want what they think they’re owed. And when they don’t get it, they take it.” He paused, the silence heavy with a threat. “So think hard. Do you have what it takes to keep your seat when he’s ready?”

The elevator dinged.

I blinked, the memory dissolving into the bright, sterile lights of the hallway. The doors opened. I stepped out.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Hugh: Need to meet. Not at the office. Usual spot?

I texted back immediately.

When?

Hugh: Now.

\---

The place was half-empty and dim. Sound echoed here, and shadows stretched too long against the concrete. I parked on the third level and sat in the car for a moment, just watching.

No one had followed me in. There were no idling engines and no silhouettes shifting in the rearview mirror.

But in my world, “nothing” was usually a lie.

I stepped out, my eyes tracking the stairwell and the dark corners where the light didn’t reach. Then, three spaces down, Hugh’s headlights flashed once, signaling where he was.

I walked over and opened the passenger door.

Hugh was white-knuckled behind the wheel. He looked like he’d been dragged through a week of sleepless nights; his tie was a wreck, his shirt creased, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises.

“Get in,” he rasped.

I slid inside. He hit the locks immediately, the mechanical click sounding like a starter pistol. He reached into the glove compartment and shoved a heavy manila envelope into my hands.

“Here,” he said, handing it to me.

I opened it.

The first document was a hit list of loyalty: Board Members and Executives Willing to Support Caesar Laurent. I scanned the names, my heart beating a little faster from satisfaction. Some were debts I’d collected over years; others were simply men who hated my father more than they feared him.

“Some of them were anxious,” Hugh whispered. “Asking when they will be needed. But they’ll back you if it comes to a vote. They’re tired of the old man’s leash.”

I moved to the second document: Victor Laurent - Offshore Accounts and Asset Holdings.

My eyes moved down the page, taking in slush funds hidden in art acquisitions, real estate and private holdings under false names.

The irony of it all. My father had spent weeks painting Richard Quinn as a fraud while he was running a shadow empire that made Quinn look like an amateur.

“This wasn’t easy,” Hugh said, his eyes darting to the side mirror. “I thought I was dead twice.”

“Is this all of it?” I asked.

Hugh shifted, the leather of the seat creaking. “It’s what I could pull without raising suspicions but I know there’s more. There’s always more with him.”

I folded the documents and slid them back into the envelope.

I folded the documents and slid them back into the envelope. Hugh cleared his throat, looking uncomfortable. “Would you be okay with it? Coming at your father like this?”

I looked at him. “What do you mean?”

“He’s still your father. And if this goes wrong, it’s not just you who pays. It’s everyone on that list. Including me.”

“I know.”

“So I’m asking—are you sure?”

When I didn’t answer, Hugh shifted again, clearly uncomfortable. “Look, I promised I wouldn’t ask questions. I know I owe you. But my life might be on the line if your father finds out. So I need to know—”

“What do you want to know?” I asked.

“Is there a reason you can’t wait for succession? It’s not like anyone would run against you.”

Aaron’s face flashed in my mind—that smug, bastard smile and the way he said Father as if he’d earned the right.

“I’m protecting what’s mine,” I said. “That’s all you need to know.”

Hugh stared at me for a long moment, then nodded. “I just wanted to know what I was risking my neck for.”

I held out my hand, and he shook it, his palm was damp with cold sweat. “Thank you,” I said.

I stepped out into the chilly air of the garage. I was halfway to my car when the phone in my pocket buzzed.

Father: Come to my study when you get home.

My chest tightened. I scanned the parking garage again, wondering if I’d been tailed because if my father was summoning me, it often meant something. Had he found out about Hugh or the list?

I slid into my car and sat there, the envelope in my hand and my pulse too fast. Just what was he calling me for?