Chapter 1
I was worth 107 billion dollars.
The chairmen of the seven listed companies have to bow and call me "boss" when they see me.
But right then, I was crouched outside a coffee shop with a couple of crumpled dollar bills in my hand.
My sister, Emily Grant, tossed it to me from her bed.
"Run down to Sweet Spot Coffee on the corner. Get me a latte, light ice, easy on the syrup. Whatever's left is your errand fee."
A coffee there ran seven dollars.
It was actually my 368th franchise.
So I was out five dollars of my own money to work for myself?
Everyone might be wondering why I didn't just come clean.
Imagine having a big sister like Emily who could literally drag a person out of bed with one hand.
I wanted to ask one thing.
Somebody out there had to be able to tell me how a person breaks it to his own family that the loser they'd been mocking for twenty-six years was actually their boss.
*****
I held the two dollars.
It was all crumpled up, still faintly smelling of mint from Emily's pajamas.
I stood at the counter of Sweet Spot Coffee, my feelings all tangled up.
The girl behind the counter looked up, giving me a practiced smile. "Sir, what would you like to order?"
"One drink, less ice, 30% sugar," I said.
"All right, that'll be seven dollars," she replied.
I pulled out the two dollars and fished out another five dollars from my own pocket.
That covered it, and not a cent more.
The girl behind the counter froze for a moment when she took the money.
She shot me another glance, lingering a bit longer than usual.
My heart dropped, because I was done for if that girl had recognized me.
Last month at the headquarters meeting, my face popped up on a PowerPoint slide.
Just for two seconds.
But what if she recognized me?
"Sir..." she said.
I tensed up.
"This two dollars are too wrinkled. The machine won't take it. Could you give me a different one?"
"Oh," I said.
I finally relaxed and grabbed a fresh two dollars from my wallet.
Once I got the coffee, I glanced down at the logo on the cup.
Sweet Spot Coffee had 2,400 locations nationwide and cleared 120 million dollars in profit last year.
I took a sip.
My own coffee really hit the spot.
When I got home, I set the coffee down on Emily's nightstand.
She didn't even look up, her eyes glued to her phone. She just reached out, grabbed the cup, and stuck the straw in her mouth like she'd done it a thousand times.
She took a sip.
"Too much ice," Emily complained.
"You said less ice," I replied.
"That's not what I meant by less ice. When I say less ice, I mean almost none," Emily shot back.
I took a deep breath.
I let it go.
She was my sister, after all.
Emily was twenty-eight, the marketing director at a listed company.
That company was Grant Holdings.
Funny enough, it was mine.
She worked her butt off every day, making 7,700 dollars a month, but the mortgage and car payments were suffocating her.
She had no clue that every month, the mortgage she paid was actually landing right in her own kid brother's account.
And she definitely didn't know that the mysterious big boss she always complained about, the one nobody ever saw, was actually standing right by her bed, getting bossed around to buy her coffee.
"William," Emily suddenly called out.
"What's up?" I replied.
"For the family dinner on Saturday, don't wear that pilled-up hoodie," she said.
"What's wrong with it?" I asked.
"Henry is coming," she finally looked up at me, her eyes full of disappointment.
"He just got promoted to department manager, making 170 thousand dollars a year. And you? You're twenty-six, just lying around at home all day. Mom's gonna start comparing you two again."
"Oh," I replied.
"Oh? What's with the 'oh'? Can't you show a little ambition?" Emily snapped.
I thought for a moment.
Henry Quinn came to mind. He was the regional marketing manager at Grant Realty, a subsidiary of Grant Holdings.
Technically speaking, he was one of my relatives.
The family tree was too tangled to bother with.
"Got it, Emily. I'll dress better on Saturday," I said.
I turned and headed back to my room.
Just as I closed the door, my phone buzzed.
It was Richard calling.
Richard Lane was my personal butler and chief of staff. He had served my grandfather for thirty years and now he worked for me, and the number of people alive who knew who I really was could be counted on one hand.
Richard was the thumb on that hand.
I picked up.
"Sir, about that land in Harbor City..." Richard began.
"Richard, how many times have I told you? Don't call me sir on the phone," I said.
"Yes, sir," Richard replied, not missing a beat.
I let out a sigh.
"The folks on the Harbor City land deal have agreed, and we can sign the papers tomorrow. By the way, I've emailed you the site selection report for Sweet Spot Coffee's 2401st store. Could you check it out when you get a chance?"
"Got it," I said, lowering my voice. "Anything else?"
"Also, the quarterly report for your DeepCloud Fund—"
Just then, I heard the sound of slippers slapping against the floor outside my door.
Emily's voice came through the door. "William, who are you talking to?"
"No one! Just a scam call!" I blurted out.
I cut the call instantly.
My heart was pounding.
That had been close.
The door creaked open a crack, and Emily's head poked in.
"Why are you acting all sneaky? You're not messing with those sketchy online lenders, are you?" Emily said.
"Emily, can you not always assume the worst?" I said.
"If you never go to work, where's your money even coming from?" Emily pressed.
"I've got savings," I said.
"Savings? You've never held down a real job since college, how do you even have savings?" Emily scoffed.
"Emily, can you close the door first?" I said.
She eyed me skeptically for a moment, then finally disappeared behind the door.
Just as the door clicked shut, I caught her muttering under her breath.
"Twenty-six years old, no job, no girlfriend, nothing going for him. Who does he take after?"
I took after my grandfather.
What I inherited wasn't the personality.
It was the assets.