Page 8 of BillionHeir
“Sir,” Ethan says before quickly correcting himself. “Max, I am so glad you are going to be okay. I have been managing, but now that you are capable of selecting someone to temporarily run the company while you recover, I have put together a list of potential candidates.”
“I have already chosen someone.”
“Great, that will make this process easier,” Ethan says, sounding relieved. “Who is it?”
“You.”
He audibly gulps before responding. “Really? But Mr.—”
“It is Max,” I growl.
“Right, Max. Sorry. Why me?”
“Tell me how things have been going while I have been gone,” I command without responding to his question.
He takes the subject change in stride, just as I expected.
“Things are running smoothly. I have been managing your emails and attending meetings in your place. The department heads have been coming to me with any issues of which there have been surprisingly few.”
When he finishes, I just nod my head, and he gives me a questioning look.
“And you wonder why I would choose you. I trust you, Ethan. Look how well you have done since I have been gone. My own friends are impressed.”
“You have my word that you will return to a thriving empire, just as you left it.”
I nod, fully believing him. If there is anyone I can trust to do it, it is him.
“What do you know about this place they are sending me?” I ask, still upset about having to be in a facility like a caged monkey for months on end. I would much rather be at home where I can relax.
“It is the best rehab in Boston. I had to pull a couple of strings to get you in on such short notice, but once they heard your name, they were very amenable.”
As they should be. It is good to be back in a place where the Banks name means something. When I try to stretch my neck, pain radiates up my arm and down my back like lightning just as the ambulance hits a bump in the road, jostling me in the gurney I am lying on. I have to grit my teeth to suppress my cry of agony.
“Watch it!” Ethan yells at the driver, surprising me with his outburst. “He was just in a helicopter accident, or did you forget?”
If I wasn’t in so much pain right now, I might smile thankfully at my assistant for standing up for me so forcefully. I feel the vehicle slow and pray to everything that is holy that we are at the rehabilitation center. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.
I insisted on leaving that hell hole of a hospital in Seattle as soon as it was physically possible. They tried to warn me that it was too soon, that my bones needed more time to set after surgery, but I can be a very persuasive man when I want to be. My frustration and sour mood combined with a generous donation to the hospital convinced them to go ahead with the transfer.
I took a red eye last night with the best private medical care Seattle had to offer. The team then took a return flight back, and I instructed Ethan to hire the highest rated ambulance service in the city to take me the rest of the way to the rehab where I will be doing my physical therapy and begrudgingly staying for the next six weeks. Hopefully less if I have anything to say about it.
I still don’t know why I can’t just go home and have the therapists come to me. The doctors and nurses insist that I am going to want the constant care that this facility will provide, but I am less than convinced.
I have more money than I know what to do with. I can afford round the clock care at home. Hell, I could afford to hire a team of belly dancers to stand around the place 24/7 and feed me grapes if I wanted. Why shouldn’t I get private nursing care?
I know that this is what everyone wants for me, but everyone doesn’t know what is best for me. I do.
The ambulance jostles me once more, and I can feel beads of sweat build on my brow as I hold back a scream. The driver of this thing is a hack, highly rated or not.
A few minutes later, I feel the vehicle slow down and come to a stop. Ethan looks down at his phone and then back up at me.
“We are here. I will stay long enough for you to get settled. Then I need to get back to the office for an important meeting.”
“Important meeting?” I ask, happy to have something else to focus on beside the blinding agony I am in right now.
“Nothing you need to worry about. I have a meeting with the board of directors coming up this week, and I need to reassure them that things are being properly managed in your absence. But I know just how to handle them.”
“It sounds like you have things under control. I am happy to have you standing in for me.”
