Page 59 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends
“And if we let them keep cutting her,” Harrison adds, “we’re no better than the ones holding the blades.”
It’s a low blow, but it lands exactly where it needs to.
Gavin sits back slowly, folding his hands in his lap. His face is composed, as always. He’s had media training since he was eight. His father was an actor. His mother, a sculptor of brands. Gavin Thatcher knows how to wear a mask better than anyone.
But this isn’t a mask. Not right now. Right now, I can see the cracks.
“You think the board would back me if I keep Parker on the gala?” he asks.
“They’ll back strength,” I say. “They always do.”
“They don’t like surprises,” Harrison adds. “But they like a clear decision-maker.”
“She’s not a scandal,” I say. “She’s a scapegoat.”
Gavin runs his thumb along the seam of his sleeve. “They think I’m compromised.”
“Then show them what beingcommittedlooks like.”
His gaze flicks to mine. Sharp. Focused.
“Your mother isn’t VT anymore,” I continue. “You are.”
“She thinks I’ll fold.”
“And that should make you very, very angry.”
A long beat passes. The kind that settles somewhere in the gut and waits for your stomach to catch up.
Then Gavin says, “Do you remember when we opened the second office downtown?”
“Yeah.”
“Vivian told me not to. Said we weren’t ready. Said we’d look arrogant.”
Harrison nods at the memory. “She wanted you to wait until she could take the credit.”
“I did it anyway.”
“And it worked.”
He nods. “It did.”
“That’s who you are, Gavin. You don’t flinch. You don’t wait for permission. Youlead.Vivian and Heather have forgotten that you’re the goddamned CEO. It’s time to remind them.”
His eyes go distant for a second. Then he stands and walks to the window. He stares out at the city—clean lines of architecture cutting against early morning haze, the pulse of movement starting to build, the weight of reputation coiling in the air like humidity.
And when he turns back toward us, his voice is clear. Quiet. Final. “Parker’s not going anywhere.”
And I can feel the shift in the room like a wave changing direction.
“She stays,” Gavin says. “Vivian can throw her tantrum. Heather can whisper into as many ears as she wants. Fuck ’em.”
“And the board?” Harrison asks.
“They’ll adjust or they’ll leave, and I don’t much care which way they turn.”
There it is. The real Gavin. Not the heir. Not the careful curator of image. Just the man. The one who built this company with us from the ground up. The one who doesn’t take shit from anyone once he’s decided it’s not worth taking.
