Page 7 of The Billionaire Is Back

MOM: Everything is okay, I just think you deserve to know.

My stomach lurches as the express elevator descends.

I click her name to call her back, and she answers on the first ring. “Hi, honey,” she says. She sounds happy, like she normally does. But there’s something off in her tone, and my stomach can’t seem to rightitself.

“Mom, what’s going on?”

“First, I want to preface this by saying that your father is fine. He’s fine. Well, now he is. He wasn’t, and he’s not completely fine at the moment. But if we make some very significant lifestyle changes—and we will—he’s going to be just fine.”

My heart joins my stomach in feeling off-kilter. It’s an iron-clad rule of the universe that too manyfines make something not fine at all. “What do you mean? What happened?”

“Your father was having chest pains. He didn’t want to, but eventually Iinsistedwe take him to the hospital.”

Like the flip of a switch, all the missed birthdays and holidays and barbecues and get-togethers that I didn’t attend over the years are no longer a testament to my will to win. They are no longer evidence that I had been willing to sacrifice everything to build my empire from nothing, to defeat men like Lynch. Now all those missing memories are an indictment of how much I’ve lost and what a shit son I’ve become. When was the last time I was home? Five or six Christmases ago? Has it been longer? I was only in and out for one or two nights. I tried for a while to bring my family to me and we did have a Thanksgiving in my penthouse apartment, but there was a lot of grumbling about traveling, even though I flew them by private jet, and even louder grumbling, both from mouths and stomachs, about how my kitchen at the time wasn’t set up for cooking a proper Thanksgiving turkey. They didn’t want to come to my world, and I didn’t have time to return to theirs.

So I haven’t seen anyone in years.

“And? Did you go to the hospital?” I ask.

“Yes, they did a lot of tests, which your father was very uncooperative about and very vocal about not wanting to cooperate—you know how he is?—”

The call cuts out near the end of the elevator’s descent.

“Shit.” I try calling her back.

“What’s going on?” Alice asks, sounding very concerned.

“What’s the closest car I have in storage near here?”

Instead of asking more questions, Alice goes into uber-assistant mode, which is exactly what I need from her right now. She stares hard at her own phone while I try and fail to reconnect with my mother.

“The Mercedes is still in storage nearby.”

“The Mercedes—what Mercedes?” I’m wracking my brain. I’ve been a BMW guy for a decade…and then it hits me. “You mean the 380?”

Alice nods. “The one from Maine. It’s still here in a garage in the city.”

“Tell them I’m coming to get it,” I say. The elevator doors open, and I rush out onto the street to get a better signal. It finally connects.

“Sorry, Mom. I was in an elevator. What happened? Was it a heart attack?”

“No. No, honey. It turned out to be angina. He has coronary artery disease. They said he doesn’t need surgery yet. He’s going tohaveto make some changes, but he’s going to be fine.”

My head is spinning. “When did this happen?”

“A couple of days ago. Your father didn’t want tomake a big fuss—you know how he is—and I didn’t want to bother you until we knew what was going on. I know how busy you are, dear, but I thought you should know.”

Well, there’s a big old interesting knot of personal failings to untangle. My father being stubborn and playing everything close to the vest, my mother worrying but not wanting to make waves in my life, and me being so out of touch and unapproachable that my father goes to the hospital with chest pains and I’m not even told immediately.

Everything else fades away.

“I’m coming home,” I tell her, slightly out of breath.

“You are?” My mother sounds so surprised and hopeful it breaks my heart. “Oh, Grady, you don’t have to do that. Your father will say that I’m being?—”

“Mom. I’m coming home.”

“Okay. Good. I’m glad. Your father will be too.”

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