Page 12 of Blind Prophet

“I’d like a coffee. Black,” he says as he takes a seat, discreetly adjusting his silver tie and smoothing the material on his navy pinstripe trousers. He recently stopped coloring his hair black, and the overabundance of white gives the appearance of thinning. Once I adjust to the shock of white, I probably won’t notice anymore.

Why am I even registering the man’s hair?

“I’d like a fresh cup, too,” I say, breathing deeply in an attempt to ignore the dull pain emanating behind my temples. “Thank you, Jay.”

“Did you see the portfolio adjustments I’m making?”

With a push, I roll my office chair to the right for a better view around my monitors.

“Interesting shifts.”

I don’t particularly care what Geoffrey does with the portfolios he manages for my father, but his moves intrigue me.

“Heavy on gold, oil, and gas.” Years ago, Geoffrey bought heavily into crypto. I doubted him, but that move paid off. “And now you’re sitting here. Something you want to share?”

As a board member of Bedrock Advisory, I have reams of reports from the industry’s brightest. I’m not a trader, but speculation interests me. Geoffrey Cromwell’s speculative record speaks of someone with insider knowledge, the kind that would land him in jail if he ever slips. It’s fitting that Dad plucked him out of obscurity and claimed him.

“At your next board meeting, encourage your team to follow my strategy.”

I meet his gaze head-on. The man has twenty years on me, but he can fuck all the way off.

“Surely you’re up on the news,” he says, adjusting his position in the seat and smoothing his dress shirt, before crossing an ankle over his knee. It’s a casual position, but he’s never relaxed. Always fidgeting. That’s probably why I always expect him to come in with news that he lost a lot of Dad’s money, but he consistently outperforms my personal team.

Jay hustles in with steaming black porcelain coffee mugs. I wait until he sets my new mug down, removes the old one, and exits before responding.

“Enlighten me,” I say, wondering which lobbyist or politician has shared information that recommends a conservative exposure.

“Something’s afoot. Bets are that China is moving in on Taiwan, Russia into Poland. Are you in touch with Nick Ivanov?”

“What does Ivanov have to do with it?”

Nick’s my friend from university, lives in Great Britain, and I don’t recall him ever meeting Geoffrey Cromwell. But, then again, our world is incestuous.

“Figured he’d keep you up to speed.”

I steeple my fingers. “You shift into a conservative stance too early, and you miss opportunities. With a portfolio of Dad’s size, the balance strikes me as unwise.”

“Remind me. How did your portfolio perform last year compared to your father’s?”

“If this is you pitching me on your management services, try again.” I shift my mouse to bring my monitor to life and check the time and my calendar.Fuck, my head hurts.“Why are you here, Geoffrey?”

“Your father asked me to keep you informed. I’m simply executing his wishes.”

I’m on the board of a firm with over half of the United States’s wealth under management, and I founded and run an aerospace company. But yes, Dad would believe I need counsel for the rest of my life.

“How is Zenith doing?” Geoffrey’s question confirms he’s a sixty-something kiss-ass putz.

A voice in my head counters that that’s not fair, that while he works for Dad, he’s also one of his closest friends.

Hot coffee coats my throat, and I close my burning eyes. I’m so fucking tired. The run this morning didn’t wake me enough to deal with my father, and Geoffrey represents him.

Zenith is my company, one I conceptualized and created. Founded for global high-speed internet, I now own more satellites than any government on Earth. It’s privately held, so unfortunately for my father, there’s no earnings call for him to receive a concise update.

“Why?”

The overhead light reflects off Geoffrey’s silver-rimmed spectacles, but I’d bet beneath the reflection, he’s glaring, annoyed with my evasiveness.

The dull pain intensifies, and I close my eyelids, breathing in.

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