Til Debt Do Us Part (Married At Midnight #4)

Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

Dare

I clear my throat as I enter Gerard's Steakhouse, Remy's favorite restaurant. The décor is dated to the early nineteen hundreds with thick mahogany walls, old world paintings with rich detail, gilded frames with ornate wood carvings and golden trim. The tables are a dark, polished wood with blue and white linens atop.

The place is dimly-lit, with a deep mahogany wood paneling and red leather seats. The tables are far apart enough to allow for intimate conversation but close enough together to be sociable. The floor is made of a polished marble you can see your reflection in. The wait staff is dressed in formal suits, well maintained, pressed, and starched.

The dark paneling made of oak and marble floors are pristine in their presentation. Candles and sparkling silverware adorn the tables dressed in starched white linen. The walls are adorned with old paintings of groups of nobles on horseback, galloping to pursue some smaller, weaker prey. It's a chilling thing for a restaurant to boast about.

Gerard’s has been the fanciest restaurant in town for ages. If you want to dine here, you'd better be ready to shell out some serious money. I don't like this place, but I've invited my grandfather as a way to butter him up.

I take a seat at a mahogany table with a white table cloth and a crystal vase holding a single red rose. The booth is tucked away in the corner, and my grandfather soon joins me.

He looks as sharp as ever in his custom suit and tie, though his hair is white with age. "Dare," he says gruffly. "It's been too long."

"Yes, sir," I reply. "I've been pretty busy getting married and producing that heir you requested."

He smirks at me and unfolds his napkin.

The waiter approaches our table and takes our orders. My grandfather orders the full rack of prime rib, his signature dish, while I order a New York strip, though I'm not really hungry. The smell of the steak wafts through the air, and my mouth salivates at the rich aroma.

We spend time catching up on family news as we wait for our meal. Mostly my grandfather brings up a relative and then proceeds to go into a vitriolic rant about how they are embarrassing him and living their life wrong.

I keep my mouth shut and listen, nodding every so often. A few months ago, I would have listened to Remy's diatribe without a critical thought. It's funny that it took Talia pointing out how toxic Remy can be for me to finally open my eyes to the fact.

The food arrives shortly after, juicy pieces of steak perfectly seasoned with spices like garlic powder and paprika before being cooked to perfection. The potatoes are buttery and light, while the salad is fresh and crisp. A glass of red wine is brought with both our steaks; it's truly an experience fit for royalty.

I take a deep breath before finally plunging into the conversation that will dictate my future. "Sir, I wanted to ask you for a favor. I want to fund a project that I'm passionate about: deep sea drilling."

He pauses, then takes another bite of steak. He looks at me with piercing eyes. "Out with it," he demands.

I take a deep breath and explain why this project is so important to me. Deep sea drilling can open up an entirely new frontier of energy resources, and it could revolutionize how we think about energy production in the future. It's something that not only interests me personally, but could have major implications on the global economy as well.

Remy considers what I've said for a moment before responding. "It's an interesting idea," he says slowly. "But why should I fund your project? What makes it worth my investment?"

I take another deep breath and explain how my research has been ongoing for years now, and how I have consulted with top scientists and engineers in the field to develop better technologies that make this possible. Not only is it economically viable, but it could also be very beneficial to the environment if done correctly.

Remy goes still, his faintly twitching muscles and rheumy eyes blinking slowly the only evidence that he isn't dead. He puts his hand on his chin, his expression pensive. I look at the ground, hoping he's mulling the idea over.

"I can't believe you have the nerve to bring this up to me again." He scratches his chin. "I already told you that Morgan Oil isn't going to fund your stupid little fantasy."

I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool. I know I'm not going to win this argument, but that doesn't mean I'm not going to try.

"Remy, when you're gone, who do you think is going to be in charge of Morgan Oil?" I ask him pointedly. "Me."

Remy's eyes narrow. "And why should I trust you with my legacy?" he asks.

"Because when I'm in charge," I say confidently. "I plan on investing more money into research and development so we can find the next source for America's energy needs. We need to get away from relying on oil and gas so much because not only is it bad for the environment—it's also becoming increasingly unreliable."

Remy looks at me skeptically before taking another bite of his steak. He chews slowly as he considers my words. Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he speaks again. "You're an idiot," he says gruffly. "America will never give up oil and gas as our primary sources of energy—not while they still make money from it."

I slam my fist against the table in frustration—not hard enough to break anything, but enough to get Remy's attention. "That's the problem with you!" I shout angrily. "You are so short-sighted and stubborn! We need people with vision. People who can look towards the future and see where this industry needs to go next!"

Remy slams his fist on the table, and I have to take a step back. He is seething with rage, and I can feel the tension between us rising.

"I built Morgan Oil from the ground up, Dare!" he shouts. "It took years of hard work and dedication to get it to where it is today! You should respect that!"

I take a deep breath, trying to remain calm despite his anger. "I do respect what you've done," I say firmly. "But times are changing, and we need to change with them if we want to stay competitive."

Remy looks at me skeptically, his expression unreadable. I can tell he's still not convinced.

"What are you planning to do differently?" he asks.

I take another deep breath and explain my vision for the company. "If I inherit Morgan Drilling, I want to expand our operations into oil and gas extraction," I say. "We could use traditional methods like drilling or fracking, but we could also look into other avenues like thermal stimulation or steam-assisted gravity drainage."

Remy's brow furrows in confusion. "Tell me more about the new processes," he says, his tone of voice gruff.

"Thermal stimulation involves using heat to help extract oil and natural gas from the ground," I explain. "And steam-assisted gravity drainage uses steam injection to loosen up deposits before pumping them out. Plus deep sea drilling, which is self-explanatory."

Remy continues to look skeptical, but at least he seems slightly curious now. He takes another sip of his wine as he considers my words. After a few moments of silence, he speaks again.

"Do you really think this will work?" he asks doubtfully. "I mean, how much additional market share do you think these methods could possibly get us? We already hold eleven and a half percent."

I nod slowly.

"At least four times our current market share," I reply firmly. "These methods are proven and reliable—and they're much more cost effective than traditional drilling techniques."

He doesn't look at all convinced. I lean forward, lowering my voice.

"Look, we have to think strategically about our future. Gas and oil will still be important in fifty or a hundred years. But they will not be the only resource. Someone is going to put the money into researching a new energy source. And I want to be part of the company that is smart enough to pull the trigger on it. It will make the billions we have now seem like chump change by comparison."

Remy looks down his nose at me, a wry smile appearing on his lips.

"Are you saying that I should have been funding research on these new technologies for years?"

I hesitate. "Well... it's a new and untapped market. No one has had a breakthrough yet. It seems risky, even though it really isn't."

Remy takes a full minute to wipe his mouth with his cloth napkin and then hurls it against his mostly-untouched meal.

"I make decisions based on what I know to be true. And you can't prove a fucking thing that research has provided for me."

My fingers tighten on my knife.

"That's just not true. There are dozens of small tweaks that our company lab has suggested to the extraction process. I'd wager those tweaks have earned millions of dollars, but they only cost about one hundred thousand in research."

"Bah." Remy waves his hand at me. "That's hardly the point."

The waiter turns to me, obviously trying not to show his distress. "Is everything okay here, sir? How is your meal?"

I smile politely. "It's quite good, thank you." Remy scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"Throw my plate in the trash," he barks at the waiter. "I've had better food at a gas station." The waiter looks horrified as he hurries away with the untouched food.

Remy turns back to me, his face smug. I feel my anger rising and take a few deep breaths before addressing him again.

"Look Remy, I understand your hesitancy towards investing in research, but this could be a huge money maker for us down the line." I try to keep my voice as even as possible despite my growing annoyance.

Remy pierces me with his glare, his eyes like daggers. "Does your grand scheme for our company's future involve moving the headquarters away from Harwicke? To somewhere like New York?" His voice is tight and wary, as if he already has an answer in mind.

I frown. The last thing I want is to falsely raise his hopes. "It's a real possibility," I reply. "We have to go where the money is, and unfortunately, Harwicke has never been much of a business option."

Remy stares at me with an expression of disbelief. "You truly think this is the right move? Without consulting me?"

I can feel my temper starting to rise, but I suppress it and remain level-headed. "Yes," I reply firmly. "When I take up the reins as CEO, my job will be to make sure that our company is successful and moving forward."

Remy snorts and shakes his head. "And what makes you think you're qualified to do that? You haven't ever been in a CEO position before. And you've never even worked for any company that wasn't the family business. You've been coddled for years. You're soft."

A bitter grimace appears on my face. "You're not immortal, Remy. Right now, you have the power to choose your successor. But every minute you delay announcing a name, you are taking a huge risk. Much bigger than deep sea drilling."

Remy stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. He throws a bundle of cash on the table and glares at me with fire in his eyes. "You think you can make decisions about this company without my permission? I'm the CEO, goddamnit. The company will always have its headquarters in Harwicke!"

I rise, throwing my napkin on the table. "In order to grow, sometimes you have to take risks."

Remy snorts in disbelief. "Are you telling me that deep sea drilling is going to be profitable for us? What about the environmental impact? What about the safety hazards? A single nasty lawsuit could easily wipe out our entire fortune."

I open my mouth to answer but Remy cuts me off. "No," he says firmly, pointing a finger at me for emphasis. "I don't think you have what it takes to run a successful business. Until you sign a contract that keeps the company in this town, you will never be my successor."

He turns away from me and walks towards the door. Then he pauses dramatically.

"And don't expect any money from me for your grand plans. Not today, not tomorrow, not a thousand years in the future."

I lose my meticulously crafted cool. "You don't need to worry about that. You are going to die sooner or later. Sooner if you keep up this rhetoric. Someone is going to poison your coffee to be free of you."

The atmosphere in the room shifts immediately. Remy's face darkens and his voice becomes low and menacing. "What did you just say?" he growls, leaning over the table towards me.

I can feel my temper rising but I keep it under control. "I said that your decision-making days are numbered," I reply calmly. "You need to think about what is best for this company before your personal feelings get in the way."

Remy shakes his head incredulously. "It's obvious what's happened to you," he says, in disgust. "You've married that tramp of a wife. Now you're getting laid on the regular and it's giving you ideas. It's softened you up, made you think with your dick instead of your brain." He pauses, taking a breath before continuing in a low, dangerous voice. "You were raised by me to be a killer—to do what needs to be done for the success of this business. But now you are nothing but a disappointment, no better than Felix and Tripp."

My rage boils over and I slam my fist down hard on the table, making Remy jump in surprise. "That's not true!" I shout angrily. "I'm still as lethal as ever; it has nothing to do with Talia or sex! You know damn well that I am capable of making tough decisions when it matters most!"

Remy spits a wad of white phlegm onto the restaurant floor. "This is what I get for letting you marry outside of your own class. I thought you would pick someone more pure-minded, but it's obvious that she has warped your mind. The bitch has to be dealt with once she coughs up your spawn."

I glare at Remy, my anger boiling over. "You can not refer to Talia like that!" I growl, feeling my muscles tense as I take a menacing step forward. "She is family now—she is a Morgan. You will show her the respect she deserves or suffer the consequences."

He points a bony finger at me. "You had better get your house in order and quit playing by your own rules. Otherwise, your twin brother will take over in my place."

I turn away from Remy, unable to contain my anger any longer. I storm out of the restaurant. Outside, the chauffeured SUV is waiting for us, and I yank open the door and climb in.

Talia looks up at me, her eyes full of concern. "Was talking to your grandfather productive?" she asks quietly.

I take a deep breath before answering, trying to calm myself down. "Not at all," I reply coldly. "My grandfather is a bastard."

Talia puts her hand on my arm, but I shake it off angrily. She looks away, a hurt expression crossing her face as she realizes that talking isn't going to make a difference this time. We sit in silence as we ride back to our apartment building, until I finally break the silence by slamming my fist against the window in frustration.

"Remy is a bastard."

She glances at me. "Did the meeting go that badly?"

"Yes. And then Remy started insulting you. It took everything I had not to punch his wrinkled mouth and yellowing teeth down his throat."

Talia scrunches her face up. "I'm sorry, Dare. That sounds horrible."

She scoots closer and ducks under my arm, putting her head on my chest. The embrace soothes the beast that rages inside me, quieting my inner agony to a murmur.

I realize with a start that Remy was wrong. Talia hasn't softened me; having Talia at my side has made me stronger than ever before.

Her voice is soft and I can feel the reverberations against my chest as she speaks. "Wouldn’t you be happier if you weren’t always trying to win this inheritance race? What if you just got a business loan and started your own venture?"

I scoff. "Are you saying I should walk away from billions of dollars?"

She slips her arm around my waist and hugs me tightly.

"I'm just suggesting alternatives. You seem so unhappy right now. I hate to see it."

I stare out the window, my mind racing. Talia's words reverberate in my head; what if I didn't need Remy's money to make something of myself? Maybe I could start my own business and become successful that way. It was an intriguing idea but it seemed so risky.

How could I possibly pull it off on my own? Would I be able to secure a loan without Remy's help? Could I really make it without relying on his connections or wealth?

As we arrived back at our apartment building, Talia pulls away from me and looks up into my eyes.

"Dare," she said softly, her voice full of compassion. "You don't have to do this for your grandfather's approval. You can still find your own success without him."

I just kiss the top of her head absently, nodding.

"Let's go inside."

But the idea reverberates inside my head, echoing and bouncing around for the rest of the day.