The Gatekeeper's Son Read online

  “Slow down, Edward,” Okaasan said. “Didn’t you have dinner last night?”

  “Oh, Misako,” Grandpa said with a laugh, a forkful of sausage on the way to his mouth. “That’s what I like about you—and Lin. I wish the rest of my employees were so candid.”

  “She doesn’t have to worry about getting fired.”

  The voice had come from down the table. When I looked up, John was whistling, looking outside. Everyone laughed, but Ms. Lin cut in.

  “You do need to look after yourself better, Edward,” she said, using his name for the first time that I could recall. “I’ve been saying that.”

  Grandpa grinned. “I know, but these sausages are so damn good.”

  “Yes, they are,” Mr. Sugimoto said in accented English from across the table. “Would you pass them here, Junya?”

  “Why’d you call him Junya?” Mark said.

  Grandpa answered before anyone else had a chance.

  “His real name is James Edward Thompson.” He looked so proud. “His father named him after me.”

  I always suspected that Dad had slapped the name on me with about as much thought as a store clerk putting a price tag on a can of tuna. Just something to keep Grandpa happy, I suppose.

  “I named him Junya.” Okaasan’s voice was low but strong. “It means ‘the pure one.’” Then she looked up, perhaps becoming aware of the sudden silence. “And he’ll stay that way if I can keep the young ladies away.”

  Someone chuckled, and then others joined in, a release of tension. I blushed again, my eyes still on the table. Okaasan had never called me James—like anything she disagreed with, she made her own way around it.

  If anyone had bothered to ask me, I’d have said I preferred Junya. The older I got, the less comfortable I was with my borrowed name. It felt like a hand-me-down.

  Grandpa started clinking a spoon against his coffee cup. I groaned as a man in a baker’s hat carried in a huge cake, complete with the requisite sixteen candles.

  “Make a wish, James,” Grandpa said as he leaned back and loosened his tie. As if that were her cue, Ms. Lin walked around from her end of the table and placed a small wrapped package beside me.

  I tried to smile. Maybe it was just this whole over-the-top party, but something about the gift felt … formal.

  “James,” Grandpa began as he watched Ms. Lin walk back to her seat. “When your father returned to San Francisco, bringing you and his beautiful wife, Misako, I promised I’d do things different with you.”

  I glanced at my dad. He was staring at the table.

  “I’ve tried to teach you what I think is important about life, and about my business, and you’ve learned well.” Grandpa addressed the room. “Are you all aware of his bookstore project?”

  There were a few grunts.

  “I’m not,” my dad said.

  “James found the classic undervalued property, an old building in a good neighborhood. Of course, I wanted to bulldoze the place, but he insisted on a heritage renovation. James led the project and it was a success.” He chuckled. “I expected it to fail—which would’ve been a good lesson.” Before I had a chance to process the insult, he continued. “Do you know how much profit you’ve earned?”

  The question surprised me. I’d had fun working on the design and even hoped to impress him, but I never even considered the money it might make.

  He hit the table so hard the cutlery rattled. “You’ve made one hundred and ten thousand dollars so far.”

  There was a whistle from the other end of the table.

  Okaasan cleared her throat. “Edward—”

  “Chairman.” Walter Roacks glanced at me, then at Grandpa. “Given our situation, shouldn’t this profit stay within the company?”

  Grandpa glared at Walter. “This was a private project. I’ve taken my cut, the rest belongs to James.” He paused for a moment and then turned toward Okaasan. “This money’s not for video games or fast cars, Misako. This is for the future. Money is a seed—it must be planted to grow.” Then Grandpa cleared his throat and stood up.

  “I’m sure you’ve expected this, James, but I’m making it official.”

  I gave him a blank stare.

  “Today, I’m officially naming you as my heir, the future chairman and sole shareholder of the Thompson Group of Companies.”

  I gaped up at him as murmurs rose. I stole a glance around the table—eight faces smiling, some of the smiles real, some forced. Only Walter Roacks looked surprised.

  Suddenly I had trouble breathing.

  “I … I’m still in school,” I said. “I need to help my dad … I’m not ready, I don’t—”

  “You are ready, James,” Grandpa said. “And don’t look so worried. I’m not planning on dying anytime soon.”

  A thousand thoughts stampeded through my mind, most of them not good. Somehow, the words I managed to force out of my mouth surprised me.

  “I’d be honored.”

  Grandpa laughed. “You know, some people would regard this as a curse.”

  My dad looked up. “You’re right.”

  Grandpa’s face fell. Slowly, he slumped into his chair. The room went silent, everyone’s breath held.

  “You understand, don’t you, James?” He stared at me. “I don’t want my work to die with me.”

  The awkward silence continued until Ms. Lin finally broke it. “Edward, perhaps James should open his present.”

  I grabbed the box, happy for the distraction. As I fought with the wrapping, I glanced at Ms. Lin. “Must own a tape company.”

  Someone laughed and the tension broke.

  “Do I, Walter?” Grandpa asked.

  “We own one in Minnesota.” More laughter.

  When I finally opened the box, a gold watch sat coiled like a snake in a cradle of blue velvet. It was beautiful, gleaming gold and crystal, with James and the Thompson Group logo engraved under the crown at twelve o’clock. I looked up at Grandpa.

  “Put in on, boy. It won’t bite you.”

  I reluctantly pushed my hand through the band. It fit as snugly as a handcuff.

  “Do you like it?”

  “Thank you, Grandpa. It’s awesome.” I forced a smile. “It’s … is it gold?”

  He nodded. “Very special gold.”

  I stared down at it. “This seems … maybe too much for me.”

  “Nonsense. That watch marks an important milestone in your life. You’re stepping into manhood, and into my shoes.”

  Ms. Lin set the domestic staff and the bodyguards free, but when my dad pushed his chair back, Grandpa stopped him.

  “Robert, I want you to hear this, too.”

  Dad sighed but sat back down.

  “Something unexpected happened this morning,” Grandpa said, “that puts us in a serious situation.” He took a deep breath. “My biggest investors have backed out, which means the Bayview Complex project is in peril.”

  Loud conversation broke out around the table. The Bayview Complex was Grandpa’s biggest project ever, his dream, ten years in the planning: three towers, one a Thompson Hotel with luxury condominiums on the top floors, and two office towers. He’d even talked about moving into one of the penthouses.

  “The committee has never refused you,” Walter said.

  I frowned. “What’s the committee?”

  Grandpa glared at Walter. “A group of international partners,” he said. “It’s … an investment club of sorts.”

  I heard Dad cough.

  “Are they crazy?” Mark said. “They’re guaranteed a huge return on investment—not to mention they’re breaching a contract. We’ll kill them in court.”

  “We also lost most of our bank credit lines this week,” Walter said, “the ones we use to operate our divisions.”

  Grandpa swore. “Then this is about more than just the Bayview.”

  “You’re damn right!” Walter’s face reddened. “And I can’t be expected to factor personal attacks into my financial plans!”
/>   “What does Mr. Roacks mean by personal, Chairman?” It was a woman I didn’t know.

  Grandpa hesitated. “He means, Barbara, that I’ve been blacklisted at the highest levels—the very highest. They mean to destroy me.”

  Something didn’t add up.

  “Wait a minute.” I turned to Grandpa. “You’re a billionaire. Why do you need to borrow money?”

  Walter sighed. “We have billions in assets. We don’t keep it in a vault in the basement like Scrooge McDuck.”

  I wanted to stick out my tongue at him.

  Ms. Lin spoke up. “Chairman, isn’t there something you can do?”

  Grandpa gazed at his hands. “Of course, I could call Geneva—”

  Someone swore—my dad. He looked mad, and he never got mad.

  “You mean Bartholomew, don’t you?” he said in a tone I didn’t recognize.

  When Grandpa didn’t reply, Dad pushed his chair with a loud scratch and lunged to his feet.

  “Goddammit! You promised me you were done with him!” His fists were clenched tight by his sides.

  Okaasan touched his arm, but he shook it off and strode out of the room. She followed him, leaving me astonished and the room engulfed in another raging silence.

  I took a deep breath. “Who’s Bartholomew?”

  Mark answered. “He’s one of the top money men in the world.”

  I looked at Grandpa. “Why’s he mad at you?”

  He turned to me. “He lent me money years ago, helped me get my start,” he said. “But why would one of the most powerful men in the world help out a young nobody like me?” He looked around the table. “Turns out I had something he wanted.”

  “What?”

  “I had a small collection, … antiques, just little trinkets, but he wanted them. I wasn’t interested in selling, so I paid back the money I owed him and walked away. That was years ago.” Grandpa let out a short laugh. “He’s a sore loser.”

  “But why now?” I said. “Why’d he wait this long to do something about it?”

  Grandpa’s head drooped. “The bastard waited until I had the most to lose.”

  Everyone filtered out of the dining room, leaving me alone with Grandpa and Walter. I stared at my new watch. I still had an hour and a half before I was supposed to meet my friend Mack. For once I couldn’t wait to do my homework—anything to get back to reality and out of the world of big business.

  Walter paced. “Bankruptcy is a strong possibility,” he said. “We may not last to the month’s end.”

  Grandpa lunged to his feet, his face red. “We just lost the financing! So why did the Bayview project go under two months ago?”

  “It’s the economy. Everyone’s suffering.” Walter licked his lips. “Call Mr. Müller, Bartholomew’s assistant. Maybe you can—”

  “No!”

  “You’re risking the company—”

  “It’s my company to risk!” Grandpa strode from the room rubbing his temples. Not long after, Ms. Lin came in from the garden and followed him upstairs.

  Through the open door, I felt the breeze and smelled the freshness it carried. Across the room, Walter now held a glass of scotch. He smiled, but it disappeared when he caught me staring at him.

  “You’ve inherited a sinking ship,” he said.

  I was about to reply when something started nagging at me. I felt a pang of worry. Something was wrong—I just didn’t know what.

  Okaasan ran in from the garden and paused at the foot of the stairs.

  A moment later, we heard Ms. Lin yell.

  The red trucks of the San Francisco Fire Department were parked out front, paramedics waiting. Okaasan and I had run upstairs to find Grandpa slumped over his desk, his face gray, with Ms. Lin at his side. Seconds later, Mr. Barrymore and three men burst into the study carrying medical kits and a defibrillator. Everything after that was a blur.

  Mr. Barrymore pleaded with Grandpa to go to the hospital, but he refused.

  “I ate too much!” he yelled. “You’re overreacting.”

  It was about then that Okaasan and Ms. Lin pushed the men aside. Within minutes, Grandpa was on his way down the stairs, strapped to a stretcher, grumbling the whole time but no longer resisting. The paramedics took him to the emergency department of UCSF Medical Center and my parents took me home.

  CHAPTER

  3

  Mack was waiting outside our gate, kicking at the weeds poking through cracks in the sidewalk. Dressed in jeans and a gray hoodie, he looked older than sixteen. He was a big stocky boy with a curly mop of blond hair that had fascinated me since the first time I saw it in kindergarten.

  I closed our gate. “Hey.”

  “Yo.” He pointed to the book and pencil case I carried, and his face twisted in mock astonishment. “You’re leaving home without your precious new computer?” He spun toward the street. “Call the media!”

  I rolled my eyes. “I left it at my grandpa’s house.” Then I told him about my morning—most of it anyhow.

  His face fell. “I hope he’s OK.”

  “Me, too. Scared the hell out of me.”

  “I bet.” He blew out his breath. “Well, happy birthday, I guess.”

  I frowned. “Where’s my present?”

  “My presence is your present.” He grinned.

  “Does it come with a gift receipt?”

  He punched me on the shoulder.

  We started up the Arbutus Street hill, under the shade of neatly trimmed trees, and it wasn’t long before Mack was puffing. San Francisco is a great place to live if you want a cardio workout every time you go out.

  “So, what’d you do last night?”

  He looked over at me. “I had a date with Isabella.”

  “No way!” Mack lived the life I dreamed about, at least as far as girls were concerned. “So how’d it go? … Or should I even ask?”

  “We met at the theater and had burgers before the movie. Her mom picked her up right after, so I didn’t get any action other than making out during the movie.”

  I shook my head. “More than I get.”

  “That’s ’cause you spend too much time with your computer.”

  I gave him a sly smile. “Guess who kissed me today.”

  “Your mom?”

  “Grandpa’s executive assistant—you know, Ms. Lin.” I tapped my lips. “Right here!”

  His mouth dropped open. “You gotta be kidding. She’s a total babe!”

  I beamed. “She said she wanted to be the first woman to kiss me now that I’m a man.”

  Mack looked dumbfounded. “Are you sure you didn’t dream this?”

  “Positive.”

  “Well, that sure beats my present.” He paused to catch his breath. “What else you been up to, lover boy?”

  “Helping my dad after school.” I ran my hand along the iron bars of someone’s fence, my lungs not feeling the hill yet. “He’s almost finished that heritage renovation up in The Heights. I’m tired, but the money’s nice.”

  “Yeah, I bet.” He watched a white Mercedes climb the hill past us. “That’s how you bought your new laptop, right?”

  “Well, some of it was birthday money, but yeah.” My dad paid me well, way more than I’d make flipping burgers. I’d been working with him since I was a kid, even helped him when we built our new house a few years ago.

  We passed the old red fire box on the corner, turned onto Sacramento Street, and walked past three-story apartments with shops on the bottom floor.

  “So what happened with you and Tyler on Thursday?” Mack said. “He nailed you pretty good.”

  “Just the usual crap,” I said as we passed a bus shelter with The Thompson Media Group spelled out below a perfume advertisement.

  Mack sighed. “Use your stuff, man.” He threw a few punches in the air. “Like you did in elementary school. No one messed with you then. Everybody thinks you’re a wimp. It’s embarrassing.”

  I shook my head. “My mom would kill me if I got into a fight again
.”

  “Just don’t break any bones this time,” he said. “And who’s going to tell your mom anyway?”

  “She’d find out.” When it came to me getting in trouble, I’d swear Okaasan was psychic—and she had a great imagination when it came to punishments. “Anyway, I don’t need to kick his ass. I changed his Facebook page last night—he looks great in a bikini top.”

  Mack burst out laughing. “How’d you do that?”

  “I found a picture on his hard drive of him posing by some lake in his sister’s bathing suit.”

  “Oh man, I’ve gotta check that out.” He was laughing so hard he had to stop walking. “Is it still up?”

  “Yup, and he messaged all his contacts about it.” I was feeling better now. “And he can’t take it down—I changed his password.”

  “Man, remind me not to piss you off.”

  “You’re doing it right now.” I laughed. “Anyway, I’ll change it back in a few days. That’s more fun than hitting him, right?”

  “Yeah, except no one knows you did it, so it doesn’t count.”

  It was cool and dim inside the library when we burst through the doors, both of us laughing. The librarian hissed at us to be quiet as we dropped our stuff onto an empty table.

  I hadn’t even looked at our assignment, and when I did, I rolled my eyes. Describe how settlement affected the American Revolution. Mack was already scribbling in his notebook, but I didn’t know where to start, especially without my laptop.

  I glanced around, searching for inspiration.

  A girl was sitting a few tables away with a thick book open in front of her. Two long braids fell over her shoulders. She was Asian, about our age, and wore a school uniform—a short gray plaid skirt and a blue blazer with a crest on the front that I couldn’t make out. She had an odd-looking black leather backpack and tennis-racket case at her feet.

  Our eyes met. She smiled.

  The girl from the bench!

  Mack noticed my reaction. “What?”

  “See that girl?” I whispered as I tilted my head toward her. “I think I saw her earlier today, and she just smiled at me.”