The Italian Heir-CASTELLANO SERIES: MARTIN’S STORY

3

Erika has been pestering me like a pesky bug for the last three days. Yes, we were best friends, but no, there was no way I’d let her work for me or with me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea of her being around me all day, but as to why I didn’t want her around, I can’t quite put a finger on it…yet.

And in those three days, I have brought my finalized plan and conclusion on restructuring the board of investors for Castellano Holdings more than ever. What really drove me to remove them entirely was not merely because I realized they were acting a little more entitled to their shares they had in our company, but it was in fact the shady business dealings they were into. In simpler terms: engaging in illegal activities and business Castellano Holdings did not approve of.

Of course, it was through many investigations and financial report monitoring that I did and brought it to the attention of my parents, mainly my father. You may wonder if my father was such an experienced businessman. Couldn’t he have told who he was dealing with and what these people were doing under his nose?

Well, as Chairman, he decided never to interfere with what I was doing and will do. In other words, my father trusts and values my judgement more than anything. And it wasn’t like Ethan Castellano was kept in the dark, but ever since he had made me—his son-his company’s Financial Advisor, fishing out crooks was my job, not his.

To sum up the last 6 months of hard work of investigation, the Board of Investors meeting began the following Monday with shouts of anger and displeasure displayed on both sides of the oak wood table in the conference room on the 50th floor of Castellano Holdings—where the Chairman and Director—Mr. and Mrs. Castellano’s offices were.

But the moment I sifted through the evidence report, reading them out at random. Anger subsided and embarrassment seeped in; even through conference calls, shouting was no longer heard. Dad gave a nod as if to encourage me to go on and I had to lay out the ultimatum, come clean in their business or leave the board of investors—it was that simple, yet the reluctance to do so was onerous.

Some even had the audacity to give me the I-hope-you-thought-twice-on-what-you’re-doing look when I told a few that this was the end of our business relationship.

When the conference call ended, when the rest of the investors who arrived in person had left, the three of us sat in silence. Mom squeezed my shoulder, it was her way of reassuring me that everything was going to be okay—even though it wasn’t right now. Dad had an unreadable look on his face that neither of us could decipher, but then, he started laughing.

“Honey, are you…okay?” Mom asked, raising a perfect brow at her husband. “Did you see the look on Norton’s face when Martin indirectly told him to piss off? His face was twitching so badly his mustache threatened to fall off…”

“Dad, I don’t think that’s…”

I wanted to say ‘funny’ but I held my tongue. Honestly, I was expecting my father to flip out and shout at me about the mess I had just created—the loss of some long-time partnerships and business opportunities that generated good revenue for many years.

“Your father’s over 50 but somehow he still doesn’t act like that.” Mom murmured under her breath. “And did you see Sanders?” Dad continued. Still chuckling. “The little stubby man looked like he was about to climb on his desk and jump around.”

“I think I’m more afraid now that he’s laughing instead of being mad at me.” I admitted to my mother, who averted her eyes from her husband's antics.

“Why would I be angry at you for a kid?” Ethan Castellano’s laughter died and he trained his stormy grey eyes at me, the look he’d give whenever he was about to make an important decision.

“Because I lost you and mom at least 6 long-time investors today.” I said stiffly. “Those were your friends and they generate great revenue by helping you expand your business over the last few years.” I reasoned, sitting straighter in my chair. Suddenly, my heart raced and my palms felt sweaty.

“Good friends don’t harm each other, especially not behind their backs. If the revenue they generated for this company is illegal, then neither I nor your mother want any part of it. We built this company from the ground up and we sustain this business through honesty and transparency and you kid, are the brains of this company. Your mother and I know that in everything you did, you did it for the company.” Dad stood up from his seat and buttoned his coat.

Mom rose from her seat with him.

“Your father and I recognize your efforts, Martin, and it's time you realized just how proud we are of you.”

**

“That went easier than I thought it’d be.” I told John, who stepped in after me, shutting the door to my office. “What went easier than you thought?”

“Have you got a sore throat John? You sound like a woman today.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, closing my tired eyes as I stood facing the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office.

“If I were John, I’d be offended to hear that.”

I instinctively peeled my fingers away from my face, turning my head around to see who it was. Actually, I had an inkling I knew who it was.

“Fancy some donuts?”

“You mean the donuts John got me this morning?”

“Well yeah, sorry about that.” But she did not look sorry at all. “I got hungry while waiting for you, two hours Marts! What were you doing? Designing a spaceship?”

“You waited here for two hours?”

“Yes.”

“What for?” I demanded, crossing my desk to get to the insufferable woman who held a half-bitten donut and a blue file in hand. “To show my sincerity, of course, that I want to work here for the next three weeks.”

“Crawford, if I said it once, I’ve said it a thousand times, my answer is still a no.”

“Why not?” she asked indignantly.

I sighed, lifting her hand towards my mouth and taking a huge bite out of my stolen donut. Chewing it made me realize I was indeed hungry after a two-hour long meeting. “Like I said, there will be hundreds of experienced businessmen who would be more than willing to take you under their wings and teach you a thing or two.”

“That’s not an answer to my question, Martin,” She said waspishly. “I just don’t understand why wouldn’t you let me just carry out my project here. It’s merely 4 weeks and at the end of that, I promise I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

What I had said next made Erika quite mad. I really wished and I knew I should have held my tongue, but of course, I didn’t.

“That would just make your project a little too easy for you, wouldn’t it? How hard is it for you to write a letter asking if you could carry out your mini-assignment at someone’s company? You almost never work hard for anything because everything has been so easy for you, for you. This could be your first time putting effort into something if you really did care for it.”

Erika’s face was red, like red with anger. She looked like she was clenching her jaw tight and she stared at me, stony eyed. “Is that what you see me as? A lazy bum who never even tries hard at anything she does? Or maybe a charity case even as I’ve been pretty much bugging you with the same question repeatedly. Do you really think I have it all that easy?”

“Erika, that’s not what I meant, I just…”

“I know you want the best for me, always. But we’re best friends, Martin! The things you just said to me hurt, you arrogant mean t**t!” she said contemptuously. “Erika, please just…”

“I’ve got a class to be at. Take your stupid donut back.” She slammed the last small bit on my desk, smearing chocolate on my notebook. “Pompous, egotistical, disrespectful prick…” she muttered angrily under her breath. “At least let me take you to class.”

“So that you can lecture me further? No thank you.” She didn’t even turn to look at me and shot out of the door just as John opened it, standing there with his eyes widened as Erika stormed past him. “Is everything okay Mr. Castellano?”

“Just peachy.”

“I just came in to tell you that Miss …”

“Later John.” I stopped him midway, “I need to clear my head. Are there any more of those donuts you bought me this morning?”

“Err…no. I think that would be the last one Miss Crawford took.”

“There were 6 of them, John.”

“She waited 2 hours for you, Mr. Castellano, but she did bring you something else.”

“Your favorite Americano from Joe’s.” John disappeared behind the door and returned with a flask, Erika’s flask actually, the one that she brought to class daily. “She thought you might need this to keep you sane throughout the day.”

A pang of guilt hit me instantly and I wanted to run after her and apologize profusely, but the phone on my table rang. “That will be the Chairman,” John said after the first ring. “A dinner reservation has been made tonight at Daniel 6 this evening.”

“With whom?”

“Mr. Castellano!” Jackson balanced a stack of files so high I could only see his eyes from there. “I’ll excuse myself; please Jackson, be careful with that.” John warned as he set the flask on the coffee table of my lounge. “John?” I called, Jackson startled himself and the top most file began to slip.

I pushed it back into the pile just in time and scribbled something on my chocolate stained notebook, tearing out the page once I was done. John took the scribbled note and stared at me like I had grown an extra head. “Are you serious?”

“Yes, I want them before my dinner with my father. Do you think you could do that for me?”

“Absolutely Mr. Castellano. I’ll see to this myself.” John nodded respectfully before taking his leave. “Jackson, take a seat before you start breaking more things around my office.” I ordered just after his shoe knocked into one of the chair’s legs and the top most file slid off the deck along with two other.

“Yes Sir, shall we go over with the Marketing Budgetary plans then?”

I held Erika’s flask in hand and, true enough, I saw the engraved letter ‘E’ at the bottom of the flask. “Just don’t regret making that decision,” I said softly.

“Certainly not, Sir. Where shall we begin?”

But that wasn’t meant for Jackson.

**

New York City’s traffic was a nightmare. You’d think just because I’ve lived all my life here, I would eventually get used to it. No. I hated it.

But today’s traffic on the way to Daniel on 65th Street served as some sort of self-reflection moment for me. I’ve got to admit, when Jackson was going over the Marketing budget planning with me, my mind wandered some place far. I almost missed a meeting with the finance executives that afternoon thinking about what my apology text should sound like.

I had a whole paragraph drafted and planned in my head but the only words that I had sent to Erika were ‘I’m sorry, forgive me?’

Of course there wasn’t any reply. Did I really think I was going to get one?

A hand reached for my slacks pocket to make sure it was there. I hoped I was making the right decision after all.

The restaurant was located at 65th Street, New York. The exterior had potted plants arranged neatly with a canopy of sort over the entrance of the double doors. The interior, I daresay, was French-inspired. White cloths spread on small, round tables with large chandeliers scattered across the ceiling with more potted plants at the front of the restaurant.

“Reservation under Castellano.”

“Right this way, Sir.”

I followed the waiter, venturing deeper into the restaurant, past the other patrons seated eating at their table while soft, slow orchestral French music played in the background. “Here is your table, let me help you get seated.”

“Dad,” I said, barely paying attention to the stranger of a man seated opposite him with a woman at his side. “Kid.” My father smiled. I did too, but that smile did not last for long.

“Ah, this must be your eldest son, Ethan.”

I wasn’t paying the man much attention but rather the woman who sat next to him. The blonde woman with sparkling blue eyes, radiant with energy, smiled at me. “You must be Mr. Blunt then?” I asked. Bold of me to assume who he was even though I’ve never seen the man, not even once in two years of dating his one and only daughter.

Dad raised his brow but said nothing. Even if he didn’t, I knew just what he would say. You never met your ex’s father, even after two years of a relationship?

Gee dad, I wondered why too.

“Yes son, I’m Zoe’s father. And I keep wondering as to why Zoe has never introduced us before, even when the two of you were seeing each other?”

I had nothing to say to that.

“Dad, why have you invited me to dinner?”

“Well…” before Ethan Castellano could answer himself, Zoe Blunt finally spoke. “I was the one who asked for dinner but your father was the one who had the place reserved for us. Unfortunately, your mother couldn’t make it, singing lessons or something, your father mentioned.”

Dad and I had a knowing smirk on our faces, we both knew very well that mom could not sing. Dad claimed she broke glasses around the house when we were younger, just belting out lullabies to us. But I knew mom all too well, she did not fancy Zoe enough to show up.

“Ah yes, my mother has many commitments.” I said, dad cleared his throat, trying his best not to think of his wife’s non-existent talent. “That’s great to hear Martin.” The way she said my name, like it rolled off her tongue so easily, like she had forgotten what she had done previously and acted like we did not have a history. “Let’s get started with dinner, shall we?”

I did not want to be here. If I knew who was going to be at the other side of the table, I wouldn’t have wasted my time getting stuck in traffic for the last 30 minutes. “So, your father says you’re made the Financial Advisor of Castellano Holdings.” Zoe began.

“Who wants to know?” I asked, expressionless. Zoe’s eyes narrowed towards my untouched wine glass and she knew I wasn’t speaking out of intoxication. “Because just by knowing so, I know who I need to approach with my business plans instead of going through the receptionist to make an appointment.”

Our parents weren’t listening, lucky for me, because my dad wouldn’t have approved of me speaking to a woman that way, let alone her father. But thank god they had the wine to accompany their conversation.

“I rather you followed protocol. We have pretty tight security in the building and we don’t just let any stranger walk in.”

“Oh I beg to differ Martin.” Zoe smiled placidly and her perfectly manicured fingers snaked around the neck of her wine glass, lifting it and swirled the dark red liquid. “Your receptionist told me to even take the private elevator up, John didn’t even stop me when I walked into your office to leave you a note.”

I made a mental note to have a word with John tomorrow morning.

“They did what they had to do. I suppose the last thing security needs is a woman throwing a fit and not being able to get into her ex-boyfriend’s office.”

“Oh my.” Zoe looked up from her glass, pursing her red lips as if trying not to laugh. “Are you still bitter about that, Martin?”

“Bitter about what exactly?” I put down my fork and knife at my untouched food. “That I left you here in New York to pursue what I wanted, that I broke up our relationship, deeming it a setback?”

“You really think that’s what I’m bitter about, Zoe?” I wanted to laugh in her face, really. Bold of her to assume that of me when she was the last thing on my mind in the last two years. Sure, I mentioned before she did mean something to me, of course she did. I’m not a heartless psychopath to be in a loveless relationship.

Her leaving made me realize there was absolutely no reason for me to pursue someone who didn’t want me to be a part of their life—if I did, that would just mean me, begging.

“I'm only here because I had the impression I was merely having dinner with my father alone. But what surprised me was that you would be so bold as to show up here in New York and have my father reserve a place for dinner at a place we both know you hate (I knew she hated French cuisine). So what is it, Zoe? What’s got you so desperate to come all the way here to New York, sneaking into my office, planning dinner so that I’d meet you and your father?”

“You seem flustered.” She said silkily.

My hand clenched into a fist but I said nothing. “If you had bothered to call me right after you saw my note or took my call this morning, perhaps you’d be more prepared, knowing that you’d meet your ex once again.”

“Perhaps it was fate that I did not respond to either. I’d hate it if my ex were to find cheap, impossible ways, thinking she could mess with my head a week prior before the meeting, now if you will excuse me.” I stood up, removing the napkin from my lap.

“Martin, you didn’t touch your food.” My father looked at my plate. “I’m sorry dad, I just remembered I made dinner plans with Erika, she’s going to kill me if I’m late again.”

“Oh I see, tell that sweet pea I said hello and your sisters want her over for a sleepover…again.”

“Sure dad. Please excuse me, Mr. Blunt, Miss Blunt.”

Zoe did not look pleased, in fact, she looked far from pleased after hearing Erika’s name being mentioned. Good, I thought. I hope she will be bored to death hearing what my dad had to say about the good old days of me and my best friend in front of my ex.

**

The speedometer did not drop below 90 all throughout the drive home, well, Erika’s home. I knew she’d be home tonight prepping her assignment, fearing Rhea might just catch her sneaking out through their shared gps information on their phone. It was set up by both of them years ago for safety reasons, in case either one was out late and needed a ride, but now the gps tracker serves as Erika’s worst nightmare.

My car came to a gradual halt, parked alongside her parent’s black SUVs and her Lexus—gifted to her on her 18th birthday because even her parents knew their daughter’s driving was an absolute horror.

“Hey Martin.” Luke, Erika’s brother, greeted me at the door. “Hey kid, where are you heading to?”

“Oh, Elijah invited me over to your parents' place, saying something about a new video game he wants to test out.”

“Right, by the way, on a scale of 1 to 10, how’s your sister’s mood this evening?” I asked, grabbing the pizza box tighter in my hand.

“I’d say 10, if that means the foulest she’s ever been this week.”

“Lord help me.” I muttered. “Have fun kid.”

“Be safe Martin.” Luke did a little mock salute before racing out of the driveway of his house. “Martin, great just in time, I want you to try this.” Aunt Georgie spotted me just as I was passing the kitchen. She didn’t even wait for my answer. “Hey Aunt Georgie, baking again?”

“Only cheesecake batch 26, I can’t seem to get the texture right.” She cried as she motioned the small dessert plate towards me, waiting for me to take a bite. Which I did, a huge bite in fact, because all I had for dinner was a glass of plain water and a view of my past.

“This is great. Really, not too bad for the batch. What did you say it was again?”

“26 dear.” Aunt Georgie took a bite herself and she chewed slowly as if afraid it would taste bad. Why wouldn’t she? After all, it took her 26 tries just to get the perfect cheesecake. “Erika’s just right upstairs, if you’re here to see her.” She suddenly said, noticing the pizza box I had in hand.

“Thanks.”

I treaded the staircase carefully, as if afraid I’d rouse the fire-breathing dragon upstairs. But there was nothing but silence. Her room was on the second floor and the closer I approached it, I found myself making the sign of the cross before knocking on her door.

“I’m not hungry mom.” The answer was immediate. “I brought pizza and I come in peace,” I said. No answer. I took it as a sign to enter.

The room was a large space, with a king-sized bed with a white duvet hanging off the edge, the large study desk was filled with opened books upon books and strewn paper, empty slots in her bookshelf where her books should have been; a laptop sat on the cushion by the window and a girl, lying upside down with her legs in the air, her short hair succumbing to gravity while shaking her arms.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“Thinking.”

“What about?”

“A hundred different ways to murder your best friend and get away with it.” She said briskly. I placed the pizza box on her study desk and slid a paper towards me, my eyes pouring over the contents.

‘Dear Sir, my name is Erika Crawford and I’m a student of Cornell University. I'm writing you this letter...’

But the word ‘ask’ was scratched off and was replaced with ‘enquire’, but then scratched off again as it was replaced with ‘because my stupid best friend is a selfish mean pig who wouldn’t even let me experience what it’s like being a successful business personnel at such a…’

The paper was then snatched away from the table and Erika glowered at me. “What are you doing here? Can’t you see that I’m busy? I have a lot of writing to do, so if you would please excuse me…”

“There are a few rules you need to know…” I trailed, sighing.

She ignored me, thinking I was about to lecture her once again as she gathered the pieces of strewn paper and stacked them neatly into a pile. “Work starts at 8am every morning on the weekdays.”

“You shall be labeled as an intern because I wouldn’t have any university students loitering in my office, especially never interfering with the work and tasks of my employees.” I said and she looked confused for a bit, the shuffling sound of papers stopped.

“You will have to wear your ID tag at all times so that security will be able to identify your identity and purpose being at Castellano Holdings.”

Erika’s eyes lit up as she bit her lip. “Are you for real? Is this…”

“If you want to work with the businessman in charge, you have to be in my office at all times. You are to follow me to all my business meetings—in and out of the office to learn what you need and want to learn, maybe some minor paperwork. I accept ideas from business amateurs as well—“

“Hey!”

“You may ask appropriate business-related questions only during working hours.”

She made a face but didn’t protest further. “And you get off work at the same time as I do and I will certainly not let you off if you have to leave early for ‘date nights’.”

“I assure you, I’m single as hell.” She nodded firmly.

“Very well, welcome aboard Miss Crawford.” I said grudgingly. Erika leapt, literally leapt from the ground and threw her arms around me, hugging me—more like squeezing the life out of me tightly. “Thank you, oh my god! Thank you smartin pants, you’re the best! I promise I’ll …” her words dangled mid air, not wanting to jinx herself and do the complete opposite of what she was about to say.

“I know you’ll do your best. And I’m truly sorry for what I said to you this morning, Erika. I hurt you and I’m really sorry. I promise to never bruise your tiny little ego again.” I apologized, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear and she smiled, no, beamed.

“Thank you for apologizing and I’m sorry I called you a pompous prick.”

“I believe there was more than just those two words.”

She gave me a sly smile and just as she did, her stomach rumbled. She clutched her abdomen and smiled sheepishly. “You haven’t had dinner either?”

“I was far too mad to even be hungry.” She admitted.

“Alright then, before you dirty your grubby hands, will you store this somewhere safe?” I fished out the employee ID card from my slacks and handed it to her. She stared at the photo in front of the hard plastic, blinking like she couldn’t believe it. She was holding her very own ID badge. But then, her smile morphed into a scowl.

“Where did you get this photo? I look horrible!” she cried.

“It was one of the many pictures on my phone, I thought that was the best.”

“I have one eye closed on this picture!” She shook the tag at me while I popped open the pizza box, pulling out the now cold pizza. “Well, did I mention I’m also the world’s best boss?”