[POV Ariel]
Richard Wayne died on a Thursday.
One minute he was leaning against the kitchen counter in the executive lounge, complaining about overpriced espresso pods. The next, he was on the ground—eyes wide, mouth parted, heart silent.
I wasn’t there when it happened. That fact still claws at my chest.
He died alone.
The EMTs said it was instantaneous. A massive heart attack. No pain, no suffering. Just gone.
I remember standing in the hallway outside the ER, staring at the floor tiles like they could offer answers, my body numb from the call I’d received less than an hour before.
I’d lost the only father figure who ever saw me as more than a burden or a bargaining chip.
Richard Wayne wasn’t just my boss. He was the first person who didn’t just look at me—he really saw me. He believed in me when no one else ever had. And now…
Now the world felt quieter. Colder.
The week that followed was a blur.
Calls, flowers, condolences. Executives panicking in hallways. Lawyers circling. Board members tiptoeing around me like I was fragile glass about to crack.
I didn’t crack. I handled the funeral arrangements. I rescheduled meetings. I answered every damn call that came through Richard’s line because no one else had the guts to.
It wasn’t just grief. It was loyalty. I owed him that much.
The company felt hollow without him. His chair sat empty at the board table, the leather stiff and untouched. His mug was still in the dishwasher. A faint trace of his cologne lingered on his office chair—woodsy and warm, like a memory that refused to fade just yet.
But the whispers started soon after.
“Sloane’s coming back,” one of the interns murmured outside the break room.
“God help us,” someone else replied. “You know what they say about him, right?”
I stood around the corner, completely still, listening. It wasn’t professional, but grief has no boundaries. And apparently, neither did curiosity.
“Six years gone,” another voice said. “Didn’t even show up when his fiancée died. Or his mother. Who does that?”
“They say he walked out on Richard the day after the funeral. Never came back. Never even answered his calls.”
“And now he’s coming to take over the company.”
“Because of course he is. It’s always the golden sons, even if they’re monsters.”
I stepped away before I heard more. My fists clenched at my sides.
I had known about Sloane, of course. Richard never talked about him in detail, just glimpses. Wounds he never tried to hide but never fully explained. A photo on his desk. A look in his eyes when he mentioned the past.
But I didn’t know what kind of man Sloane had become.
Until the whispers began.
They painted a picture I didn’t want to believe, but couldn’t ignore. Ruthless. Cold. Dangerous. A man shaped by grief and guilt and silence. A man who disappeared for six years, only to return the moment his inheritance was on the line.
* * *
The funeral was held on a rainy Monday. Of course it rained. It felt fitting.
The church was packed—executives, journalists, rival CEOs, even former staff who hadn’t worked at Wayne Publishing in over a decade. Everyone had shown up to pay their respects.
Everyone except the person whose absence felt like a shout across the sanctuary.
Sloane Wayne’s name wasn’t on the guest list. No reserved seat. No apology for his absence. Just...nothing.
And somehow, that hurt more than I expected.
I stood at the pulpit, palms damp, throat tight, trying to find words worthy of a man who’d done more for me in five years than my own parents had in a lifetime.
“I wasn’t born into this company,” I began. My voice cracked on the first word, but I steadied it. I had to. “I didn’t inherit a seat at the table. I earned mine. And I never would have had the chance if not for Richard Wayne.”
A pause.
“He saw me. Before anyone else did. He taught me how to lead with integrity, how to think three moves ahead, and how to fight for truth even when it costs you.”
I looked down at the front pew, at the single white rose I’d placed on the casket earlier that morning. My fingers curled into my palm.
“He wasn’t just my mentor. He was the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father. And I hope—” My voice faltered again. “—I hope he knew how much he meant to me.”
A hush fell over the room.
When I stepped down, several board members reached out to squeeze my hand, but their condolences slid off me like water off stone.
All I could think was—where was his son?
Later that evening, back at the office, I was reviewing quarterly projections in Richard’s office—his office—when a pair of board members stepped in.
Gerald Mayfield and Tessa Quinn. Two of the oldest, sharpest minds in the business.
“May we come in?” Tessa asked gently.
I nodded. “Of course.”
They exchanged a look. Gerald cleared his throat. “There’s something you should know.”
I set the file aside. “Go on.”
“Sloane Wayne will be arriving next week to assume control of the company.”
I blinked. “He… what?”
“It’s in the succession documents,” Tessa added. “He’s the heir. Richard never made any amendments to the contrary.”
“But he hasn’t stepped foot in this company in six years.”
“And yet he’s still Richard’s legal successor.”
I felt my pulse spike. “He couldn’t even be bothered to come to the funeral.”
They didn’t reply. They didn’t need to.
The truth hung in the air like smoke: It didn’t matter what kind of man Sloane Wayne was—or wasn’t. This company was his now.
And Richard’s legacy? The one I had spent five years helping him build, defend, evolve? It was now in the hands of a stranger.
A man who walked away from his father. Who turned his back on this place. On me.
I rose slowly from the chair. “I want to see the succession clause.”
“You’ll have it first thing tomorrow.”
Tessa hesitated at the door, then turned. “We know how much he trusted you, Ari. That’s not going to change.”
But it would change. Because Sloane Wayne was coming.
And I wasn’t going to let him erase Richard’s memory. Not without a fight.