“May I recommend our noodles dish, a Japanese take on Cacio e Pepe—Odon noodles tossed in mentaiko, which is spicy cod roe, black peppered cream, and topped with veal tonsils and parmigiana?”

“Sounds delicious for my son. I’ll have the soba salad,” Naomi said. “Paulina is driving your father insane. She goes on and on about the new CFO. Did you meet Young Doron when you visited Doron in the main plant?”

“No.” Gideon had to hand it to his mother. For someone who wasn’t involved, she was pretty well-informed.

“Your grandmother is a pain in the neck, but this time I agree with her.” His mother said. Gideon's chin hit the table. To have both his mother and Paulina agree was as rare as an honest underwriter.

“You agree with...”

“Yes. Young Doron is essentially a yes-man, and your father dotes on him too much.”

His father had replaced him, and it hurt more than he liked to admit. But he’d given up on the right to be jealous when he renounced his surname and avoided seeing his father.

Their mains were served and Gideon nibbled his dish, which was superb. Naomi played with her salad and drank more wine.

“Paulina told me that in the next shareholders' meeting, your father will ask to approve a very generous option agreement for Young Doron. He wants her vote. She told me he would want mine as well.”

Naomi’s shares were hers, just like Paulina owned her own. It was a unique addendum to Berdiplast’s articles of Association, added in by Paulina, obviously, stating that every shareholders meeting required a new proxy from the spouse, if one of a married couple wouldn’t attend. Paulina had always attended. She notoriously voted against her husband on two occasions. As Old Doron liked to point out, she had been proven right both times.

His mother continued. “Young Doron is going to be a major shareholder and Paulina is dead set against it.”

“I see her point.” Gideon didn’t like it either. Young Doron was a newcomer and an unknown entity, and if the female portion of the family was correct, his father was too taken with him.

“Yes, she thought you would. She told your father that she’s changing her will. She is skipping over him and writes you as the sole beneficiary of her shares.”

This was a low blow, even for Paulina. She pulled out the heaviest guns, not caring for her son’s feelings.

“Your poor father. Can you imagine what it was like growing up with her?” Naomi asked. Gideon couldn’t. Naomi and Yehoshua, for all their faults, were doting parents.

“It’s a way for Paulina to tell me that my place is at Berdiplast,” Gideon realized aloud.

“She is right. She also told me that the right thing to do is to vote against your father. And I think she has a point,” his mother added in a small voice.

“Oh, shit,” Gideon said and reached for the wine.










At The Warehouse