[12th January/2000,]
"As you can see, Mr James, the partners would feel more assured if you entrusted your father's shares to me for voting power to stabilise the fund." A chubby white man dressed in an expensive Italian suit said with a comforting smile. "You must understand that while you are brilliant, graduating from Harvard business and law college at just 20 years old, your inexperience worries the investors."
Twenty-year-old Xavier James, dressed in a black suit, his shoulders damp from the recent rain, looked up after hearing the man's words. The dark sunglasses covering his eyes gave little away as to his current emotions, but the clenching of his fist did the trick. He didn't answer right away, but simply scanned the man across from him as faint tones of Jazz and laughter from the reception room drifted over.
"You bastards couldn't even wait till after my father's repast to try and devour his company?" He voiced the slight buzz from the alcohol, channelling his sadness into anger. "You'd better get out of my face before we both do something we will both regret."
The chill in his words froze nearby mourners who had been in conversation. They didn't catch what young James had said, but they could tell he wasn't pleased. "Xavier, son thinks rationally, we're just trying to do what's best for the fund. We need stability now more than ever before the antsy traders start jumping ship."
"Who's your son? As a matter of fact, didn't I just tell you to get out of my face, old man? What are you, hard of hearing or something?" Xavier raised his voice, now clearly sounding over the magnetic voice of Lois Armstrong, his late father's favourite, coming out of the record player. "Shame on you, Shame on all of you, my father has barely been buried for 4 hours, and you all already want to pick at his corpse."
"Xavier, what Bob is trying to convey is that we all just want to protect what we built with your father," said another neatly dressed man with a skinny but pale build. "None of us expected this, and without your father's majority shares, the fund can't be run effectively."
"I really couldn't care less right now whether the fund lives or dies, I just buried my father. I don't care about whether you lot have another zero in your bank account." He said with much more anger as he set the whisky glass in his hand on a nearby wardrobe. "Shame on you, shame on both of you. If not for my father, you two would be bankrupt trying to scrape money to pay back your investors after Asia in '97."
The two men, who had been trying to appear friendly to further their schemes, now looked pale. Both their wounds had been torn open and exposed to a roomful of influential people in their world. "Xavier Isaiah James, I think that's enough. Head upstairs to cool your head, baby." Interrupted an elderly black woman in her early sixties, dressed in an elegant evening gown, with streaks of grey in her hair.
"I'm sorry, Grandma." Xavier simply stated as he picked up his glass and walked past the men. Not forgetting to give his grandma a kiss on the cheek, he walked up the marble stairs briskly without looking back.
"Now you scoundrels, you have ten seconds to get out of my home before my husband locates his hunting rifle and treats you like intruders." She staded her voice, carrying an icy edge, causing the men and women part of Bob's entourage to break out in cold sweat.
"M'mam, I think..." Before the woman could finish her sentence, Amara's cold gaze settled on her, freezing her in place. "Don't get it confused, you all are a special kind of bastards, but I have zero patience to deal with you, so just leave and let me mourn my son in peace."
Before the people who used to be her sons' partners and coworkers could complain or offer fake platitudes, her brothers came out from the living room. They brought their sons and nephews with them, promptly guiding the people out the door.
~~~
Xavier didn't stop until he reached the top of the stairs. The hallway smelled of freshly polished wood and lilies, oddly reminding him of his father. The man wasn't perfect; for the first part of his life, he had been busy trying to establish his career.
Being a black stockbroker in the eighties wasn't easy, even if one had the talents to thrive on Wall Street; connections were necessary. Cassius James had done it, though, in his own way, scoring so big with one bet in 1987 and maximum leverage of 20:1, he became $400M richer. Xavier could still remember that day; they were living with his mother's parents back then.
His father had sold off his inheritance to fund his dream, and he didn't mind back then, since living with his grandparents was fun. Despite being white, they were pretty accepting of their daughter's relationship with a black man. Grandpa was a college football coach back then, having coached his team at the collegiate level, and Grandma was a professor.
That day was the most beautiful Monday of our family's life. Dad's beat-up Chevy had trotted down the dirt path of their farm, clanging and smoking all the way. He had barely stopped the car when he jumped out of it, slipping in a puddle that dirtied his long, brown overcoat. He didn't care how dishevelled he looked or if he made a fool of himself; the joy emanated from his entire being.
"Maya, Xavier, I've done it, we have finally done it," he exclaimed, springing up the three wooden steps of the house as he barged in, catching us mid-breakfast.
"Son, calm yourself, I almost mistook you for a Cornelly." Grandpa Nathan had exclaimed in shock, spilling some of his morning coffee on the kitchen table.
It was of no help; my father's mood was too high to be stopped, and he pulled the large man into a bear hug, lifting him directly off the ground. "Hahah, how can I calm down? I did it, I was right, and now we are rich." A smile appeared on Xavier's face as he remembered that morning, when his steps subconciosly led him to his father's study.
Before he knew it, he had opened the door and taken in the now soulless study. Stepping in, he let the door close behind him as he wandered around the spacious office. His hands brushed against the books on the shelf, slightly dusty as they hadn't been used in a while.
"Hmm, all this work, was it even worth it in the end?" he asked out loud, his gaze landing on the picture of himself and his younger sister standing at her middle school graduation a year ago. "But I guess you did achieve your dreams, so it's a life well lived to some extent."
Tilting over the globe to reveal the minibar, he fished out the half-finished bottle of Bowmore Crystal Decanter. Placing a cube of ice from the cooler into the glass, he poured himself a generous glass. Xavier swirled the drink in his hand, the amber liquid catching the light of the desk lamp as though mocking him with its warmth.
He sat on the chair behind the mahogany desk where his father had sat for years, planning his family's future. Exhaling slowly, he took in the smell of aged scotch, tobacco, and faint cedarwood that clung to the room like a personal cologne. His free hand rested on the armrest of his chair as he took a slow, measured sip of the liquid in his hands.
He could almost hear his father going on another tangent about his glory days on the gridiron. 'Sports were something we could always bond over,' he found himself thinking, as his father had taken him to games of all kinds, from Football to soccer and even volleyball. Even when he was busy, he'd make it to as many of his matches as he could whenever he was free.
Despite lacking the talent to go pro, Xavier had stuck with playing Division 1 basketball at Harvard throughout his three years. He leaned back in the leather chair, his fingers tapping the side of his glass against the mahogany, the soft rhythm keeping pace with his thoughts. Taking a long sip, he continued to reminisce about his memories as he savoured the bottle.
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To Be Continued...