Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance (45 page)

“And they came to you begging for help, didn’t they?”

“That settles it, you are psychic. The Killanes did indeed come to me after that first year, pleading for assistance with their bizarre and disturbing problem child.

“I knew they were desperate when they called me by my first name: instead of their usual ‘Montvale, you need to keep your fucking nose out of our business’ or some such tender endearment, I was told ‘Sheridan, you’re the only one who’s ever been able to talk sense into him,’ and ‘Sheridan, you have to help us.’ ‘Have to,’ can you imagine the gall?

“I allowed as to how I might be able to talk some sense into him if I was allowed to have him over the summer break; they were only too happy to oblige, and that set the pattern for the remainder of his school career – he drove the Killanes mad, they shouted, and Devon recovered with me during summers, holidays, and semester breaks.

 “When he turned sixteen, I began taking him along on my Montana fishing vacations – being out in the wild, away from everyone and everything, worked wonders for his mood. He talked, he ate and read, he learned to ride a horse, he memorized every bird species native to western Montana, and he trailed after me everywhere, asking a million questions a minute about everything, as he did when he was small. He even made a game attempt at mastering the basics of fly fishing, though it was clear he found ranchers’ daughters to be far more interesting than trout.”

“Um, no offense, but I am so not surprised.”

The old man smiled. “Not a bit of offense taken, Miss Daniels; after all, I was a teenager myself once, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth. As for Devon, it wasn’t too hard to guess what he was up to when he borrowed my car and disappeared off by himself at night – particularly when we had to leave the state in rather a hurry a time or two or three because some ranch hand was a bit cross about the huge, gangly city boy who’d come from out of nowhere to steal his girlfriend.”

Was this nice old guy trying to get me to snort my orange juice all over the table? Because that came damn near to happening when I pictured a teenage, pre-billions version of Devon eagerly putting his best moves on some doe-eyed country girl, while a jukebox blared and a surly cowboy fussed in the background – as it was, I managed to hold onto some dignity, keeping my juice down while laughing like only half of a jacked-up loon.

Uncle Sheridan flagged down one of Ronald McDonald’s wage slaves, and in nothing flat he had a fresh coffee and a hot caramel ice cream sundae in front of him, because man cannot live by caffeine alone.

I told Ronald’s minion I was just fine with the dregs of my orange juice, thank you; meanwhile, I wondered just how many broken hearts Devon had left strewn across Montana. And more to the point of why I was here … given his age and rapidly looming inheritance, didn’t the Montana outings mark the beginning of the end for Devon being the unwilling property of the Killanes?

“So it couldn’t have been more than a couple of years after he started ignoring fish and pissing off cowhands that Devon inherited his controlling share of Killane Industries, right? While his uncles cried and cursed and bemoaned their asshole fate? Or did he have to wait until he turned twenty-one?”

Jedi Master Sheridan dipped a red plastic spoon into his gooey conglomeration of caramel and semi-real ice cream, and then he sat back looking at his dessert – looking at it and not eating it, while he smiled like a cat who’d just burped up the canary’s feathers.

He looked up at me after a long ice-cream-free moment, and his smile widened.

“Devon inherited everything on his eighteenth birthday – his father’s majority share of Killane Industries, his father’s money and cars and properties, two private islands in the Caribbean, a string of polo ponies, all of it.

“That morning he turned eighteen, Devon became one of the richest young men in America. That afternoon, he almost convinced me he must be just as mad as everyone said – and in the same moment, I was more proud of him than I had ever been.”

Another Devon story that wasn’t an apocalyptic nightmare of hatred and neglect? Count me in. “Tell me.”

He answered me with a question. “Do you recall a moment early in Saturday’s meeting, when Devon said he had bought back the shares he’d sold to the Killanes?”

I shrugged. “I wondered what he meant at the time, but what with everything that happened after that – the shouting, the panicked assholes, the kneeing of balls – I sort of lost track of the whole ‘what shares and what is he talking about’ question. So that bit was important?”

“That bit was important in the same way that the sun anchoring the center of the solar system is important. That bit meant everything.”

He turned his attention to his sundae, dipping up a caramel-laden glob of goodness. He made me wait while he savored one spoonful of sugary glop, and then another; I raised my eyebrows, tried to glare at him, and roundly failed because I couldn’t so much as fake being mad at the coolest honorary uncle this side of Coruscant.

 Dabbing dribbles of ice cream from his mouth with a napkin, he then dropped the crumpled napkin next to the sundae. He smiled like a regal, wealthy version of Yoda – well, if Yoda was way taller and not green at all – and he told me about Devon’s eighteenth birthday.

“I’d spent years guarding Devon’s inheritance, keeping it safe from the Killanes like a shepherd defending his flock from circling wolves – but my apprehension grew as Devon’s eighteenth birthday approached, because as well as I knew him, I had no idea what he would do once all that power and wealth was in his hands.

“He never discussed his plans for his inheritance with me; whenever I brought up the matter, he would smile, reassure me, and then change the subject.”

The old man sighed. “You must understand, I trusted Devon. I trusted his intelligence, his integrity, his determination to do the right thing, and most of all, I trusted his heart – but he was a teenager, and teenagers can also be trusted to be bold but impractical, honest but secretive, and passionate but very impulsive. Combine all that with billions of dollars and a history of abuse and hatred, and it seemed all too likely that Devon’s plan, whatever it was, would end in disaster.

“The morning of his eighteenth birthday, he was to meet with all the senior members of the Killane family at the headquarters of Killane Industries. They would meet, flanked by lawyers and financial advisers, papers would be signed, and Devon would take control of the family business. It was anyone’s guess as to what would happen next.

“The Killanes were as much in the dark as I was. They assumed the worst, strangely enough, sure that Devon was about to commit some cataclysmic folly that would destroy them all.

“They also assumed that I must have planned whatever it was with him – I know that because the senior Killanes apparently all dived into a series of whiskey bottles the day before Devon’s eighteenth birthday, and I received several drunken calls from them in the small hours of that night, assuring me that I was ‘a conniving bastard’ and several other things I will not repeat.

“The next morning, I heard nothing.”

“But weren’t you at the meeting? You were the administrator of the inheritance, so didn’t they need your signature on the paperwork, or something?”

Uncle Sheridan shook his head. “My authority over the inheritance, along with any need for my signature, vanished the moment the clocked ticked over at midnight and Devon turned eighteen. I would have insisted on being at the meeting anyway, but the Killanes had made it quite clear that I would not be welcome on their property, while Devon wore a calm smile and still refused to discuss the matter with me. It was all quite frustrating, I can tell you.”

He paused for a sip of coffee, and chased it with another taste of the sundae.

“In any case, Devon turned eighteen, the appointed time for the meeting came and went, and I heard nothing. No earthquakes or floods devastating the city, no reported gunplay at Killane Industries headquarters, no word from anyone about anything at all – the moment that had been so many years in the making passed, and I knew nothing of what had happened.

“Two hours after it all should have been over, the phone rang.

“It was Keith Killane, and he somehow managed the feat of being even drunker than when he’d called during the night. He was loud, the shouting and giddy laughter in the background were louder still. Glasses clinked and toasts were given as if it were the end of the world, or the beginning. Music blared, someone called for more bourbon, and I could barely hear the man slurring his words over the racket.

“ ‘It’s official, Montvale – not only is Kevin’s ghost-faced bastard crazier than a shithouse rat, but the dumb fucker can’t do math either!’

“He screeched laughter at me like an idiot banshee, while someone cranked the music up even louder. Then the sound of breaking glass was followed by Kennan Killane bellowing that he had ‘the largest cock in Christendom’ and would prove it to them all without further delay, laughter that belonged in an asylum threatened to blow out my ears, and then the call cut off.”

The smooth old Jedi shook his head, smiling faintly at the memory. “I sat there, I stared at the phone, and I had no idea what to do next. Where was Devon? What in the name of heaven and earth had taken place at that meeting? Given that the Killanes were partying as if some devastating apocalypse had been avoided at the last second, I had to think that whatever had happened, it couldn’t be anything good.

“As much as I loved Devon, I wondered in that moment if he truly had gone mad. What had he done, and would there be any way at all to fix it? Was there a way to fix him?”

He chuckled. “I should have known better, of course.”

His mild laughter made me feel a whole lot better about where this story was going. I celebrated by asking Ice Cream Sundae Employee to slide a double cheeseburger and some fries my way, because it was now lunchtime – more or less – and what else would a real American do under the circumstances?

Once I received my greasy serving of fried cow, I arranged five ketchup packets in a row in preparation for an assault on my fries, and the old man continued.

“I cast aside the phone and began walking up and down the corridors of my home, fretting and fussing, trying out a dozen different plans of action in my head and driving my household staff into a state, what with the way I was stalking about and mumbling to myself.

“One hour of desperation later, a knock sounded at my door. I hustled past the housekeeper to answer it myself, yanked the door open, and there stood Devon.

“He was less than an inch away from his full adult height, and still as uncoordinated as a calf – all knees and elbows, and wearing a lopsided grin that melted the will to be mad at him right out of me. He had a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, which I later learned held a change or two of clothes and his favorite books – all that he owned in the world, as I also found out later.

“ ‘Uncle, how would you like to make a long-term investment in my educational future? Also, can I stay here tonight? For lots of nights? Did I forget to mention that I’m homeless now?’

“I couldn’t begin to resist that smile of his, no matter the circumstances, and he knew it. I wrapped him up in a bear hug, my staff swarmed him from all sides, and moments later he was telling us everything at the dining room table.

“He’d been a billionaire for all of twenty minutes.

“His reign over Killane Industries would have been even shorter, but his uncles were slow readers at the best of times, and slower still when they could not believe what they were reading. I like to think that in some ways they are still poring over that remarkable document Devon presented to them, reading and re-reading it in their minds, and wondering to this day just where they went wrong in signing it.

“But first, the papers granting Devon ownership of a majority share of Killane Industries were passed around and examined by all parties, with varying degrees of interest.

“Devon  barely glanced at them. The Killanes, on the other hand, insisted on going over the documents for the millionth time, as if a way to disinherit Devon might still be found if only they glared at the reams of legalese fiercely enough.

“When the moment could be delayed no longer, the Killanes signed away their control, one by one. Devon added his signature in all the indicated places, lawyers witnessed and stamped and initialed until Chicago was nearly drained dry of ink, and it was done.

“Kinsale Killane spoke first. ‘So what the hell are you going to do now, freak?’”

“Not exactly gracious in defeat, was he?”

“The Killanes are not gracious people at the best of times, Miss Daniels, and in moments of disaster they become creatures so ugly that even their own mothers would be hard-pressed to love them.

“Devon answered him with a smile. ‘Uncles, how much money do you have on you just now?’

“Devon told us his uncles sat there and just stared at him, as if they’d love more than anything to lunge across the table and kill him with their bare hands, and might have done so if it hadn’t been for the inconvenient presence of all those lawyers.

“Keith Killane snarled, ‘Let me guess – destroying the work of a lifetime isn’t enough for you, is it? You want to strip us of the change in our pockets while you laugh in our faces? Do you have any goddamn sense at all?’

“ ‘I’ll leave that for you worthy gentlemen to judge – in the meantime, humor me.’

“Between them, his uncles scraped together a few crumpled bills and a handful of coins. They pushed the tiny heap of currency across the table, then sat back and glared at Devon as if he’d forced them to hand over their kidneys. Devon counted it, and the grand total came to six dollars and twenty-nine cents.”

“That’s all? What kind of rich assholes barely have any cash on them?”

Uncle Sheridan raised an eyebrow. “While Devon carries large bills so that he may indulge in his habit of lavish tipping, it is a general rule that the richer a person is, the less likely they are to have actual physical money on them. The more money you have, the more distant you tend to become from the physical reality of that money – and as you might imagine, the Killanes were and are dreadful tippers.