CHAPTER ONE

The memory of the funeral wouldn’t leave me. It sat in my chest like a heavy stone.

Yesterday, I watched the coffin sink into the ground, and the finality of it hit me harder than the freezing wind blowing across the cemetery. A part of me had hoped, like a fool, that maybe it was just a bad dream. That if I closed my eyes, I would wake up and Dad would still be alive. But every time I blinked, the truth stayed the same. Dad was gone.

Clara had cried the whole time. I watched her shaking in David’s arms, sobbing so hard I thought she might collapse. I couldn’t stand it. I walked over, pulled her into my own arms, and held her tight.

“It’s going to be alright, Clara. We’ll be alright,” I whispered, stroking her back in slow circles.

Her voice broke as she said, “I miss Dad already.”

“I know,” I murmured, fighting the lump in my throat. “I miss him too.”

And God, I did. I missed him more than words could explain.

Dad hadn’t just been a father. He had been everything. When Mom left us, Dad had stepped in, carrying both roles without complaint. He worked long nights, but he still read Clara bedtime stories. He took business calls while making sure I did my homework. He was a protector, a provider, a steady rock who always made us feel safe.

And now he was gone. He left me with Clara, and with the company he had built with his own blood and sweat.

I had just graduated from Columbia Business School, ready to train under him, ready to learn slowly, one step at a time. He always told me, “Someday, this company will be yours.”

But someday came too early. Way too early.

By the time the funeral ended, I was running on fumes. I shook hands with people who didn’t really care, nodded at reporters who whispered about Hale Inns, and kept my face strong while the cameras flashed. To the world, I was not a grieving son. I was a new CEO. My pain was just another headline.

But when the last shovelful of dirt hit the coffin and the crowd left, the mask slipped. The tears came before I could stop them. My chest ached, my body shook. All the grief and anger I had been holding in just spilled out.

“Rest well, Dad,” I whispered to the mound of fresh dirt. “I’ll take care of Clara. I’ll try to make you proud.”

A warm hand pressed my shoulder. Gabriel, my father’s most trusted man, stood there quietly. “Sir,” he said gently. “Let’s go.”

I nodded. The ride home was silent. The window was rolled down, cool air brushing my face as I leaned against it.

“Sir,” Gabriel finally spoke, eyes fixed on the road, “you already know this. But now that your father is gone, as the firstborn, the company is yours.”

I sighed deeply. The words cut through me like ice. “I know, Gabriel. I know. But right now… I just want to sleep. Tomorrow, I’ll deal with it.”

But sleep didn’t make it better.

That night, I stripped off my clothes and sank into a hot bath. The warm water lapped against my skin, but it didn’t calm my mind. All I could see was the coffin lowering, Clara crying, the cameras snapping.

I was only twenty-five. Fresh out of Columbia. And now a CEO.

And also gay, which in this world was just another burden to carry.

Love? Relationships? They didn’t have a place in my life anymore. Not with the weight of an empire on my shoulders. But still, deep inside, I longed for something. For someone. Someone who would look at me and not see “Richard Hale’s heir” but just see me. A man who deserved to be loved.

For now, though, my bed was the only comfort I had. When I finally collapsed into it, I buried my face in the pillow and let sleep take me.

The next morning, reality came back, even heavier than before.

When the elevator doors slid open into my father’s office, I felt pride and dread at the same time. The office smelled faintly of him wood polish, coffee, and the cologne he always wore.

I stepped inside. His desk was exactly how he left it: neat, every pen in place. At the corner sat a photo of us three Dad, Clara, and me in Aspen. His last birthday. He was smiling in that photo, truly smiling, and for a moment I couldn’t breathe.

“Good morning, Mr. Hale.” Lauren, my new secretary, poked her head in. “The orientation is ready.”

The day blurred. Endless introductions. Department heads lined up, board members recited rules and policies, everyone smiling politely. I nodded, pretended I understood, but the truth was I felt like I was drowning. I could feel some of their eyes on me, judging me. To them, I was just a kid who got lucky. Just the son who inherited too soon.

By the time it ended, I was drained. I leaned back in Dad’s chair and stared at the photo again, wishing I could ask him what to do.

Then came the knock.

Lauren’s voice floated through the intercom. “Sir, you have Mr. Andrew here to see you.”

I straightened my tie, trying to push down the nerves. “Send him in.”

The door opened, and in walked a tall, broad man in a razor-sharp suit. His presence filled the room instantly.

I stood, shook his hand, and motioned to the chair across from me. “Good day, Mr. Andrew.”

“Good day, Mr. Hale,” he replied curtly, lowering himself into the seat. His voice was flat, his eyes cold.

“What can I do for you?” I asked, trying to sound steady even though my palms were sweating.

“I’ll get straight to the point,” he said. “Your father’s company owes me twenty-five million dollars.”

I froze. The words knocked the air out of me. “I… I’m sorry, what?”

He dropped a thick stack of papers on the desk. “The proof is all here. Loans. Contracts. Debt. Now that your father is gone, it falls on you.”

My throat went dry. “Mr. Andrew, I don’t think we have that much available immediately. I’ll need time ”

“Do I look like I care?” His voice cut sharp as a knife. “One week, Mr. Hale. One week, or Hale Inns goes under.”

With that, he snapped his briefcase shut and walked out, leaving me stunned.

The room felt colder without him. I sank back into the chair, staring at the papers like they were poison.

Twenty-five million dollars. One week.

The company my father built, the company he sacrificed everything for, was hanging by a thread.

I rubbed both hands over my face, my heart racing. My head spun.

Yesterday, I buried my father. Today, I discovered I was drowning in his debt.

This was my life now.

I am Richard Hale. I am twenty-five years old. Newly crowned CEO. And already standing on the edge of disaster.