Page 5 of Acquiring Ainsley
“Idocare Ainsley.” His voice hardened. “I’ve been trying to fix this for the last few months and nothing has worked. I don’t see any way out of it. When Dad died, the company was in worst shape than he wanted to admit. I tried to repair it, but this is our new reality.”
I huffed.
“I could have used your help,” my brother accused through what sounded like gritted teeth. “It would have been nice to have you be a part of the process, and all the decision making with—”
“You’re the one with the MBA from Wharton, not me. And I remember plenty of times when you reminded me of that. Held it over me like a carrot I could never reach. You didn’t ask for my advice. Not once.”
He cleared his throat. “Okay. That’s fair. I’ve been a jerk to you sometimes in the past. But now I need you to step up, okay? I need your input here.”
I blew some air through my front teeth. “And I was embarrassed about a stupid American Express charge. I was sitting in the bar earlier thinking that the credit-card company had screwed up on their end. Little did I know, right?”
Part of me wanted to ask Ashton about the state of my trust fund, as well, but I decided against it. I couldn’t bear to hear what I knew would almost certainly be bad news about that, too. No, I’d save that for later, for the moment when I was convinced that we didn’t have a way to save the company. There had to be something we could do, and whatever it was, I’d make sure that we’d do it.
“Well, it got your attention. I’d say that tactic did its job.”
“Yes, it did,” I said, my thoughts still racing. Numbers I’d never paid attention to before had taken on a new meaning in the span of less than fifteen minutes. How much did my expenses cost each month? What could I cut? What could we change? What if…
Ashton cleared his throat. “Listen we—”
“Does Mom know about this?” I asked, feeling anger boiling in my blood. “No, don’t answer that question. I’m sure she does. In fact, I’m sure that I’m basically thelastto know, aren’t I?”
His silence gave me all the confirmation I needed.
“What are we going to do?” I demanded to know on a long exhale, as the weight of what we were facing hit me again.
“We’re going to have to take some serious measures, Ainsley.”
He was right. We needed a miracle. But I had no idea where we’d find one.
“I know that you haven’t wanted to run the business,” Ashton said after a long moment of silence. “You’ve had… yourfunin Florida, and I’ve indulged you in that. I’ve let you do whatever you please. But that’s over, Ainsley. That must change. Now.”
I swallowed back a strange mixture of guilt and defiance and simply asked what I knew should be asked. “How?”
“It’s time for you to step back in and make your place count in this family.”
My mouth had turned drier than the Sahara Desert. The authoritative way he said this told me that he had a plan, and I wouldn’t necessarily like it. Or have any say in it. “How do you propose we do that?”
“I need you to come to New York,” he said.
“You can’t tell me now, over the phone? I’m sitting right here as your captive audience, Ashton. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”
“No, this won’t work over the phone. I want to talk about this in person. I booked you on tomorrow’s 9:15 flight.”
“That soon?”
“Yes. I don’t care that it’s the end of the week. I need you here. It’s a commercial plane, but that’s all I can send your way right now. Will you make it?”
I sighed. “Yes. Fine. I’ll come.”
As if I would have given any other response.
Flight 4503 with direct service from Palm Beach International Airport to JFK International landed just after noon the following day. I spent most of the flight staring at the final hairs of the balding man in front of me, a man who’d slept almost the whole way and snored loud enough to be heard throughout most of the main cabin.
Coach class sucked. Royally. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d flown it.
As we shuffled off the jet, I massaged my neck and rolled my shoulders a few times. I was cranky, irritable, and worried. I sent my brother a text message and grabbed a taxi, directing the driver to 957 Park Avenue, the building my family had called home for two generations. As we approached the city, I had to bite back the desire to throw up in the back of the cab.
Life was changing, right in front of me. Whatever I had known of New York would never be the same. Not if we lost everything.
