The Rivals - Dylan Allen Page 0,5

here,” he says. I surge out of my seat and turn around to scan the room.

“What I mean, Hayes, is that she’s in Houston, at the St. Regis. Not here at Rivers House. She got in very late this evening,”

I sink back down in my seat, disappointment ripe in my chest. I sit, my head bowed, my hands dangling from my knees and only half listen to what he’s saying.

“Now, she’s going to do her best to make sure that you’re ready for the chairmanship when you turn thirty. Chairman of the board at Kingdom is a figurehead mainly, but there’s also power and discretion that comes with that role. So, just because you’re not an executive making decisions, you need a good understanding of the company’s business model. Every year the chairman, with the advice of the board, revises or reaffirms the platform and goals. The foundation and the family have had decades of solid leadership. I’m sure that when you’re ready to take over, you’ll continue that legacy. For now, it is up to your uncle to act in your stead.”

I drop my head into my hands.

“I know … I know. Since his last divorce, he’s taken an advance on his income from the trust nearly every month,” he says sadly but with growing conviction in every word. “As the trustee, I have discretion over what happens to your money. I’m going to make gifts to you from the trust every year. It will be a lot of money, and you can’t touch it until you’re ready to assume the chairmanship. But at least this will keep it out of Thomas’s reach.”

I don’t say anything. I can’t. And what would be the point? I have no say in anything.

“And Gigi will take good care of you. You listen to her. You father trusted her with your life. I do, too.”

“My life?” I ask.

“I mean that you are your father’s only child. If you die without children or a wife, your uncle inherits,” he explains.

My jaw drops. “Die?” I ask in horror.

“I’m not saying he would try to kill you,” he says dismissively.

“Just that if something happens to you, the entire family’s future will be in his hands. And he is not fit to hold it,” he says in a display of temper that is rare and telling.

“I don’t know. None of this makes any sense,” I mutter and drop my face into my hands and try to think.

“One more thing,” he says, and I don’t even look up. One more thing—a million more things. I don’t think things could feel any worse.

“By virtue of being a Rivers, you’ll have people who try to get close to you just to use you for money or access to something they perceive you as a gatekeeper of.”

This speech, at least, is familiar. My father drilled that into me from an early age. Not because he didn’t want me to have friends but because it could never be at the expense of the family. It was first. For him and for me. He married Eliza after a very short time dating. She was a recent widow. Dare, my youngest brother, hadn’t even been one year old.

They never loved each other. He married her because she was young, from an old family, and had her own wealth to bring to the marriage. Just like my mother had been. He told me that the woman I chose had to be someone just like that. “Love grows where there’s commonality of purpose. And if it doesn’t, at least you will always have that to hold you together. But you must never yield your family duty to anything else.”

“All of this is your legacy.” Swish waves his arms around the vast room that’s been his seat of power for the last forty years. “You have to come back and make sure the Rivers name, mission, values, and ethics remain intact. Your family isn’t respected just because it’s wealthy. It’s because they use that money to do good, to create opportunity. They have been to Houston what the Medicis were to Europe during the Renaissance. And you’ve got to remember everything your father taught you. Gigi will do a good job keeping your feet on the ground.”

“What does she know about running a business?” I ask bitterly. I resent her already.

“The running of the business isn’t your role—the stewardship of the family’s foundation and money is. Your father died too young. You’re not ready, but I’m going