CHAPTER 15: THE OLIVE BRANCH
Kendall's office door was closed.
I stood outside it at four PM on Friday, six weeks and one day after Logan's stroke, trying to decide if this was the right move.
Gerri had suggested I repair the bridge. Frank had mentioned that Kendall was taking it hard. Even Logan had made a comment—"Don't let him spiral completely, you might still need him."
But none of them would be the one walking through this door.
I knocked.
Silence.
Then: "What?"
I opened the door. Kendall sat behind his desk, laptop open, papers scattered. He looked tired. Deep tired, the kind that came from not sleeping rather than working too hard.
His eyes landed on me. Hardened immediately.
"I'm busy," he said.
"I know. I'll make this quick." I stepped inside, closed the door behind me. Didn't sit. "I'm not here to gloat."
"Then why are you here?"
"To offer help."
He laughed. Sharp, bitter. "Help. Right. Like you helped with Vaulter?"
"I prevented you from making a three-billion-dollar mistake."
"You embarrassed me in front of the board. In front of Dad. In front of everyone who matters." He stood, hands flat on the desk. "You made me look incompetent."
I let the Empathy Engine extend. Gentle. Controlled. Just enough to catch the surface noise.
From Kendall: He's right. That's the worst part. He was right and I was wrong and everyone saw it. Dad saw it. They all think I'm a failure now. They're right. I am a failure. Can't even spot fake numbers. What am I even doing here?
Beneath the anger: exhaustion. Bone-deep weariness. The kind that came from trying so hard to be something and constantly falling short.
I softened my voice. Responded to what I sensed, not what he'd said.
"You're not done," I said quietly. "One bad deal doesn't end you. It doesn't even define you. You held the company steady for five weeks while Logan recovered. The board respects that. Frank respects that."
"But not you."
"I respect it too. That's why I spoke up." I met his eyes. "If I wanted to destroy you, I would've stayed quiet. Let you buy Vaulter. Watched it tank in six months. That would've been actual humiliation—a failed acquisition you couldn't walk away from."
He stared at me. Processing.
"Instead," I continued, "you dodged a bullet. Yeah, it stung. But you're still standing. Still interim CEO. Still in the game."
"Dad's back. I'm not really CEO anymore."
"No. But you proved you could handle it. That matters." I paused. "And if you want to find another deal, something actually good, I'll help you spot the red flags. Two sets of eyes are better than one."
Kendall sat back down. Slowly. "Why would you help me?"
"Because you're my brother. Because we're both stuck in this family. Because fighting each other just makes Logan's job easier." I shrugged. "Take your pick."
Silence. Long enough that I wondered if I should leave.
Then: "I'll think about it."
Not acceptance. Not rejection. The door staying cracked open.
"That's all I'm asking," I said.
I turned to go. Got halfway to the door when I noticed the photo on his desk.
Two kids. A girl and a boy. Sophie and Iverson. Kendall's children from his marriage to Rava.
I'd seen them on the show. Known they existed. But seeing the photo here, on Kendall's desk, made them real in a way the show never had.
He wasn't just a player in the succession game. He was a father. Someone with people depending on him. People who loved him without conditions or corporate politics.
Original Roman had never really seen that. Too wrapped up in his own dysfunction to notice anyone else's humanity.
But I saw it now.
"They're good kids," I said.
Kendall looked at the photo. His expression softened. Just slightly. "Yeah. They are."
"You should spend more time with them. This job..." I gestured vaguely. "It eats everything if you let it."
"Says the guy who just spent six weeks positioning himself."
"I don't have kids depending on me." I met his eyes. "You do. That's the difference."
I left before he could respond.
In the elevator down, I leaned against the wall and let out a long breath.
That had gone... not well, exactly. But not terribly. Kendall hadn't thrown me out. Hadn't screamed. Had even said he'd think about it.
Progress. Tiny, fragile progress.
My phone buzzed. Gerri.
How did it go?
Me: He didn't kill me. That's something.
Gerri: Low bar, but I'll take it. Drink tonight?
Me: Rain check? I'm exhausted.
Gerri: Smart. Rest. Big week next week.
I pocketed my phone. The elevator opened into the lobby. Manhattan evening rush, everyone leaving their corporate towers, heading home or to dinner or to drinks.
Normal people living normal lives.
I walked out into the November cold. My building was twenty blocks south. I could walk it. Clear my head.
The city moved around me. Yellow cabs, pedestrians, the constant churn of Manhattan. I'd been here six weeks. Felt like longer. Felt like I'd always been here.
Roman Roy's life. Roman Roy's family. Roman Roy's corporate wars.
Mine now.
The thought should've been disturbing. Instead, it felt... right. Like putting on clothes that finally fit.
I thought about Kendall's photo. Sophie and Iverson. The reminder that everyone in this family had something human underneath the corporate armor.
Even Logan, maybe. Though that was harder to believe.
My phone buzzed again. Unknown number.
Hey Roman! It's Greg. Still on for lunch next week? Let me know when works!
I smiled despite myself. Greg's endless enthusiasm, even in texts.
Me: Tuesday work? Noon?
Greg: Perfect! There's a place near the office? Or should I pick somewhere? I don't want to pick wrong!
Me: I'll pick. See you Tuesday.
Greg: Awesome! Thanks man!
I pocketed the phone and kept walking.
Kendall's door cracked open. Greg's loyalty being cultivated. Gerri's trust deepening. Logan's approval secured, at least temporarily. Frank's respect earned.
Positioning. Always positioning.
But also: small moments of genuine connection. Gerri laughing at dinner. Greg's earnest gratitude. Even Kendall's grudging "I'll think about it."
The game continued. But maybe, just maybe, I could play it without losing everything that mattered.
I reached my building. Nodded to the doorman. Took the elevator up.
The apartment was empty. Expensive and soulless, the kind of place that cost millions but felt like a hotel.
I needed to do something about that. Make it feel less like Roman's space and more like mine.
But that was tomorrow's problem.
Tonight, I ordered Thai food, put on comfortable clothes, and sat at my window looking out at Manhattan.
Six weeks since I'd woken up in this body. Six weeks since Logan's stroke. Six weeks of scrambling, positioning, learning how to be Roman Roy.
And somewhere in all of it, I'd stopped pretending.
This was my life now. These were my problems. These were my relationships.
The wounded king, learning how to rule.
Or at least how to survive.
The city glittered below. Beautiful and merciless. Just like the family that owned a piece of it.
My phone buzzed one more time. Kendall.
Those red flags you mentioned. How do you spot them?
I stared at the message.
He was reaching back. Tentative. Uncertain. But reaching.
I typed: Experience. Instinct. And asking questions everyone else is afraid to ask.
Kendall: Teach me.
Two words. But they changed everything.
Me: Okay.
I set the phone down. Looked out at the city.
The game continued.
But maybe this time, I could help someone else learn to play it too.
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