Chapter Seventeen: Da Bo$$ Would Like to See You

The alarm clock announced it was Tuesday with its usual enthusiasm. I rolled out of bed and stumbled like a zombie for the bathroom, letting the shower bring me back to life. Fifteen minutes later, shaven and showered, I dressed for work and then ran to the kitchen. I grabbed a Pop Tart from the fridge and went out the door.

I was at the office ahead of anyone else, and made the coffee in the break room. I sipped a cup as I sat down at my computer, working diligently on the contracts for the architect in Denver. Lorraine popped her head in and refilled my cup about mid-morning. She and I worked well together: she let me get in the zone and work my magic on paperwork, while she managed incoming calls and my calendar. We rarely got in each other’s way.

I hung my suit coat up and rolled up my sleeves as I pored over paperwork. Chris popped in his head just before lunch.

“Ready for a break?”

I looked up. “Uh, sure. What’s up?”

“Lunchtime. You coming?”

“Well, I wanted to get ahead on this…”

“Business lunch. My treat.” He winked, and I realized he probably had good news. I stood and straightened out my shirt, grabbing my suit coat.

We walked a couple of blocks to Soprafinos, a classy little Italian place. It had the best veal marsala in town. Chris ordered wine and a linguine dish. I got the marsala.

Chris raised his glass. “To the future.”

“The future?”

“You’re in. Your father wants to speak to you this afternoon, so you didn’t hear it from me. But, congrats! You’re the man.”

“I’m the man,” I said. I smiled.

“So, after your father makes the formal announcement, I figure we’ll take the whole department out, even the secretaries.”

“Why not,” I laughed.

“We’ll toast your success, and start choosing your team. I’m going to need you to fly down there next week and open a temporary office, find a good rental space downtown. Check out the site, meet with the architect, the city planning office…”

“Absolutely. I’m all over it.”

“You’re going to be in charge out there. Show you’ve got the balls, get this done, and big things are in store for you.”

“Big things.”

“I keep forgetting!” Chris laughed, almost spilling the wine he was drinking. “You’re Mr. Franklin’s son. You don’t need to worry.”

“Well…”

“No, I mean that in a good way. I’m impressed at the hours you’re putting in. No one would have expected it, and now the whole floor thinks you’re a workhorse. No one looks at you as the boss’ son. Everyone thinks you deserve this.”

I sat back, grinning even wider. I dug into my meal and basked in the moment.

Which was a memory I tried to hold onto as I rode the elevator up to the top floor and my father’s office. I clenched and unclenched my hands as I watched the numbers go up and up and up.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. The doors opened up on a corridor filled with designer couches, fancy lighting, and paintings on the walls. The colours were tasteful and sedate. I opened the big wooden doors directly in front of me, entering the waiting area. I waved to Gerald, my father’s assistant, who was sitting at his desk.

“One moment, Mr. Franklin, while I inform him that you’ve arrived.”

“Thank you, Gerald.”

He pushed a button. “Sir, the young Mr. Franklin is here.”

“Send him in.”

I passed through the next set of big, ornate doors and entered my father’s office.

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