Chapter 1
The last time I saw my father as a free man, the old bastard was being shoved into a police van, his face half-hidden behind the crook of his coat sleeve. Cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and in that moment, I knew — my life would never again be the same.
I was right.
Three months later, the business my father had built — the one venture not entangled in fraudulent loans and offshore accounts — was barely clinging to life. Investors had fled, customers treated our family name like a contagion, and even the few employees who remained would not meet my eye. Each day felt like patching holes on a sinking ship, knowing well that it was only a matter of time before we sank for good.
It was on such a day that, returning from a nearby café with a lukewarm coffee and a bag of food balanced precariously in my arms, I pushed open the office door.
The scent hit me first — peaty, smoky, unmistakable.
My father’s whiskey. The prized bottle of Glenmoran, twenty-five years aged, hidden in plain sight behind thick glass, and left untouched even through his downfall.
Then I saw him.
A man, sharp in a tailored suit, lounged against the edge of my desk. A crystal glass was already half-filled in his hand, which he swirled with slow, almost theatrical appreciation. He moved as if the room were his own — as if he had been waiting for this moment longer than I could fathom.
I stood motionless, saying nothing, watching him raise the glass to his lips and take a deliberate sip.
“Still smooth,” the man said at last, his voice measured, his eyes still fixed on the liquor. “Your father had excellent taste — in whiskey, if not in company.”
I placed my food down on the cabinet by the door, my jaw tightening.
“Do you often break into offices,” I said coldly, “or is this a special occasion?"
The man chuckled, finally lifting his gaze to meet mine.
"It is highly unlike me to wait in lobbies," he said, taking another sip. "Especially when there is business to be discussed."
I crossed the room slowly, refusing to sit, measuring him.
"I would rather discuss how I might have security escort you off the premises."
His grin widened. He took another leisurely sip and said, almost as an afterthought, "That might prove difficult. I contracted the security company for your father, after all."
He straightened, setting the glass down with deliberate care.
"My name is Harrison," he said. "And as one of your father’s few good friends, I might just have the heart to pull you out of this... predicament."
I narrowed my eyes.
"I gathered as much," I replied. "My father was not especially discerning in his choice of acquaintances."
"You wound me," Harrison said, swinging the glass lightly between his fingers. "Though I suppose that is fair. I'm not here to charm you, Lucas. I'm here to propose something that might just save you."
A long silence stretched between us.
At last, I crossed the room, pulled open a drawer, and poured myself a glass of the Glenmoran.
"I'm listening," I said, taking a slow sip.
"I propose a partnership between us."
"Go on."
"I want Harrison Corp. and Haywood Inc. to merge."
I studied him carefully. A merger between Harrison’s thriving automobile empire and Haywood’s struggling oil enterprise would, indeed, be mutually advantageous. My client list would swell overnight; his supply chains would grow ever more secure.
"That's a rather generous offer, Mr. Harrison," I said, finally seating myself behind the desk. "I must confess I am surprised you would seek a merger rather than a simple acquisition."
Harrison sighed, lowering himself into the chair opposite mine.
"I am no expert in oil trading," he said simply. "If I were to acquire your company outright, I could hardly match the successes you and your father achieved. I would rather stand beside a capable partner than stumble as a master of what I don't understand."
"But there are no assurances I will replicate those successes — even with your help."
He smiled slightly. "I have faith in your abilities, Lucas. You are not your father — and that's precisely why you will succeed."
For a moment, I almost believed him. And yet something gnawed at the edge of my mind.
"And what, pray tell, is your true interest in this arrangement?" I asked. "Surely you aren't merging simply out of charity."
There was a pause, slight but telling. I could not determine whether he was gathering his thoughts or weighing how much truth to reveal.
"I am not getting any younger," he said at last, adjusting his cuffs in that casual way men use to deflect discomfort. "I intend to hand over Harrison Corp. to my daughter. It is time she had capable allies — and perhaps, a capable husband."
The words landed like a blow I had not expected.
"You have a daughter?" I asked, eyebrows rising.
"I do," he said with a chuckle. "Though I had little to do with her upbringing. I provided financially; my parents provided the rest."
"That explains why you seem the least paternal man I've ever met," I muttered, adjusting in my seat.
"You still haven’t answered my question," I pressed.
Harrison smiled wider, a glint in his eye.
"I would like you and my daughter to be betrothed."
I nearly choked on my drink.
"You’re serious?"
"Entirely," he said. "Think of the merger as a wedding gift."
I set my glass down carefully, heart hammering in my chest.
"And did you truly imagine," I said, voice icy, "that I would simply agree to this... arrangement?"
"No," he said, rising smoothly. "Which is why I am not expecting an answer today. Think it over. I shall be in touch."
Without another word, he strode from the office, leaving behind the lingering scent of whiskey and audacity.
---
I sat for some time, stunned by the encounter. Break into my office, steal my liquor, propose a merger — and suggest marriage to a daughter I had never met. A peculiar visit indeed.
Still reeling, I decided that only one person might make sense of this madness: my mother.
After locking the office behind me, I drove home through streets that had begun to darken with the gathering twilight.
The Haywood house stood silent, shadowed, as if mourning its fall from grace.
As I pulled up to the gate, a black SUV exited the driveway, its tinted windows reflecting the last bruises of the sunset. I frowned. In a neighbourhood where bright cars were almost a religion, I alone had a taste for black. That could only mean one thing — unwelcome visitors. The Feds again, no doubt, sniffing about like jackals.
I gritted my teeth and drove through the open gate.
Inside, I found my mother in the dining room, clearing away the remnants of dinner.
The smell of roast meat lingered faintly in the air, but the table was half-empty — a meal interrupted.
"You had visitors?" I asked, shrugging off my coat.
She glanced up, a tired smile softening her features.
"Mr. Harrison," she said simply. "He stopped by to talk."
I stiffened. "I saw his car leaving."
She set down a dish with a quiet clatter, wiping her hands on a towel.
"He wanted to see how we were holding up," she said. "And... he had a proposition."
I folded my arms, leaning against the doorframe.
"Let me guess. A merger," I said. "And a marriage proposal thrown in for good measure."
She chuckled — a low, almost fond sound.
"You're sharper than you let on, Lucas."
"I'm not a fool, Mother," I said. "I know desperation when I see it."
Her smile faltered a little, but she pressed on, her voice steadier than before.
"Desperation or not," she said, "it's an opportunity. Harrison’s offer could save us."
I shook my head slowly.
"And you think arranging a marriage is the best way forward?"
She sighed, stepping closer.
"In our world, love is a luxury," she said softly. "Survival is not."
I studied her face — the fine lines around her eyes, the faint tremor in her hands. She looked older these days, but not broken.
If anything, there was a new resolve in her — a quiet steel I hadn't seen before.
"I just..." I began, then stopped, unsure how to finish the thought.
She reached out, brushing my sleeve with a light, motherly touch.
"I only want you safe, Lucas," she said. "And maybe... happy."
There was something odd in the way she said it — almost wistful, as if speaking of happiness she herself had long given up.
I stepped back slightly, needing space to breathe.
"I'll think about it," I said, my voice gruff.
"That's all I ask," she replied.
I turned away, heading for the stairs.
Behind me, the clatter of dishes resumed — softer, slower, almost absent-minded — and the house settled once again into its old, uneasy silence.
---
(End of Chapter One)
