The Billionaire's Brat Wants Me-Chapter 242: A Legacy at Risk

The meeting wrapped with the kind of heavy silence that always came after numbers, projections, and three different versions of stress. Six people sat around the table with me—Ava included—each of them Senior Financial Analysts heading sub-teams under my department.

"…and that concludes the last segment of the preliminary structure," I said, closing my binder. "We'll finalize the projection templates by Thursday."

Chairs shifted as everyone began gathering their files. I was about to stand when Daniel—one of the analysts—lifted a hand slightly.

"Sir, before we disperse," he said, "should we go ahead and contact the sub-contractors? Moreau Dynamics, RT Industries, Dwayne Constructions, and Quintech? So they can start preparing their financial reviews?"

I nodded. "Yeah. The earlier they start, the cleaner the integration will be for the main schedule. Just loop me in on whatever you send them."

] "Will do."

Ava tapped her pen once on her notebook. "I'll handle the breakdown and send them a structured timeline instead of an open request. That way they know the exact order of deliverables."

Efficient. As always.

"Perfect," I said.

She inclined her head slightly—professional, but there was always this calm confidence around her. I was still getting used to having a second-in-command/Assistant. And a department. And a team. And my own office. And my name on the door. Sometimes it still hit me in waves.

I closed my folder. "Alright, everyone... thank you. That's all for today."

The analysts filed out, talking quietly amongst themselves as they disappeared down the hall. Ava remained, organizing a couple of papers before neatly aligning them into a folder. Her speed always caught me off guard—like she was thinking three steps ahead at all times.

I pushed my chair back and stood. My phone buzzed almost immediately. I glanced at the screen.

Lucien Davis Moreau.

…Huh.

I hesitated for half a second before answering.

"Yeah?"

"Kai." Lucien's voice wasn't its usual sharp, confident register. It was… off. Tense. Hesitant. "Are you free? Sometime today? I—um—I need to talk to you. In person."

Well. That told me more than the words did.

"Alright," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Where?"

There was a small pause. "Wellington Crescent. The café on the ground floor of the Crescent Suites building."

Interesting choice. Neutral territory. Public. Not too formal.

"I can make that," I said. "Time?"

"Four-thirty. Or—if you need more time, I can wait."

Four-thirty was fine. Too fine. If anything, it was fast. Whatever he wanted to say was pressing enough that he didn't want to wait until evening.

"I'll be there," I told him.

"…Okay." He exhaled—quiet, but I heard it. "Thanks."

He ended the call.

I lowered the phone slowly.

Yeah. I could guess why he wanted to meet. But I wasn't jumping to conclusions, not until I heard it straight from him.

I turned—and found Ava waiting silently, hands clasped lightly in front of her, polite enough to pretend she hadn't overheard anything even though the meeting room had terrible acoustics.

I checked the time.

3:47 PM.

"Ava," I said, "I'll be... stepping out around four. And I might not make it back before closing."

She nodded immediately. "Not a problem. I'll handle the coordination with the Senior Analysts and make sure the revision sheets for the Urban Projects template are updated before end of day."

I almost smiled. "Anything urgent comes up?"

"I'll send it to your email," she said. "And if it's something that requires immediate approval, I'll call."

"You're a lifesaver."

She allowed the smallest, tiniest smile. "Just doing my job, sir."

I picked up my binder, and she handed me the last document I'd left near the projector.

"Oh—and your briefcase," she added, already reaching for where it sat on the side table. She offered it with the kind of practiced ease that made me wonder if she'd memorized my habits in one day.

I took it. "Thank you, Ava."

"Safe drive," she said with a nod before stepping out of the conference room.

I exhaled.

Then made my way down the hall toward my office.

Every time I saw the plaque on the door—Finance Manager, Urban Projects Division—I still felt something tighten quietly inside me. Not nerves. Something else. Something like… pride. And responsibility. And the weight of what this new role meant.

I pushed the door open, stepped in, set my briefcase on the desk—and paused.

Should I tell Val first?

It was instinct, really. We told each other everything. And considering how the last few weeks had gone, I already knew she'd want to hear about anything that had to do with Lucien.

But… No.

Not yet.

I needed to hear what Lucien was going to say with my own ears before I brought it to her. No assumptions. No early panic. No half-information.

I grabbed my keys. Locked up the office. Walked to the elevator and hit the button.

As the doors slid shut, my reflection stared back at me—dress shirt rolled at the sleeves, tie loosened, expression calm but focused.

The doors closed fully, and the elevator hummed as it descended.

By the time I stepped into the lobby and crossed toward the parking lot, my mind was already trying to parse every possibility.

Lucien asking to meet.

Voluntarily.

Hesitatingly.

There was only one category of things that could make him sound like that.

I slid into my car, shut the door, and started the engine.

Whatever this was…

Whatever he wanted to tell me…

It wasn't small.

And it definitely wasn't good.

But I'd hear it from him.

Then decide what came next.

---

Wellington Crescent was always a little too polished for a weekday afternoon—glass storefronts, calm foot traffic, soft café music drifting every time someone opened a door. The sky was fading into that late, washed-out gray, and people moved around with the ready-to-go-home energy of almost four o'clock.

I parked at the far end, grabbed my briefcase, locked the car, and walked toward the café Lucien mentioned. Through the wide windows, I could already see him.

He spotted me first.

He'd been watching the entrance—like he'd been checking every single person who walked through. His knee was bouncing under the table, one hand clenched around a cup he clearly hadn't touched since they handed it to him.

When I stepped inside, his shoulders sagged in something halfway between relief and dread.

I walked over.

He stood awkwardly, then sat again the moment I did.

Up close, the guy looked rough. Not physically—Lucien was always polished—but his eyes? They were unsettled. That alone told me how bad this was.

He swallowed, stared down at the table, then finally said:

} "I… I messed up. Really bad, Kai."

I kept my voice steady. "What happened?"

Even though I knew.

Even though Val knew.

Even though her dad already had a grip on the situation.

I wasn't jumping ahead for him.

Lucien scrubbed a hand through his hair. "It's… I don't even know how to say it. There was this guy—this prospective business partner. Owner of an investment company. He started talking to me about… support, expansion, backing… all these things I thought were legit. He made it sound like he wanted to work with me, like he believed I had potential. I thought—I really thought—he wanted to help me climb higher in the company. Be someone my dad wouldn't ignore."

He paused, jaw tight.

I waited.

He shook his head. "I know I'm not saying it well. It's just—he told me everything I've wanted to hear for years. Every insecurity. Every ambition. He just… played all of them like he'd rehearsed the script."

I leaned back a little. "I don't exactly understand what you're saying, Lucien."

His breathing hitched—barely, but I caught it.

Then he finally said it.

} "I… I think I sold my shares."

I kept my expression firm. Not surprised. Not relieved that he actually said it. Just… steady.

"You think you did?" I asked quietly. "Or you did?"

Lucien shut his eyes for a second, then opened them again, voice shaking at the edges.

"I don't know, man. I got played. I thought he was giving me funds—support, something to invest with. Something that would make my dad take me seriously. But it was all tied to a contract that… I didn't understand. Or I didn't read well. Or I stupidly trusted. I don't know which is worse."

A breath. A genuine, painful one.

} "My dad's gonna flip when he finds out."

His voice cracked slightly at the end.

I nodded slowly. "Walk me through it."

He swallowed. "I went to his office today. The guy. To ask for clarification. Or something. I don't even know what I was trying to do—maybe talk him into reversing it? Pretend I didn't understand the paperwork?"

"What's his name?" I asked.

Lucien blinked. "Huh?"

"What's his name," I repeated. "The guy."

"Oh. It's uh… Benjamin Otavio. Vanguard Ark Investments."

I nodded. "Alright. Go on."

Lucien stared at a point over my shoulder, like he was replaying the whole scene.

"When I confronted him, he didn't even flinch," he said. "He wasn't confused. He wasn't surprised. He didn't even pretend. It was like… like he'd been waiting for me to show up. Everything—every offer, every line he fed me—it was all planned from the start. Like he saw me coming miles away."

Yeah. I knew.

Val knew.

Her dad definitely knew.

"He looked at me," Lucien continued, "like I was the dumbest person alive for even trying to argue. And he talked like… like I handed everything over willingly. Like I should've known better."

He finally looked at me, eyes tight with embarrassment, fear, and anger. "I feel like a complete idiot."

I didn't say anything for a moment.

Then: "And now you're thinking you need to tell your dad."

He dragged a hand down his face. "Yeah. But—I don't know how. You know how he is. How he gets. This is… this is huge. It's not a mistake, it's a disaster. My family spent generations building Moreau Dynamics, and Dad pushed it further than anyone ever thought possible… and I'm the idiot who might've handed a piece of it to a shark."

I breathed in slowly. "Don't look at me. Your dad practically despises me."

Lucien let out something close to a humorless laugh. "Right."

Silence settled between us—heavy but not hostile. Just… the weight of reality.

He looked down at his hands, fingers gripping each other, knuckles pale.

Then, quietly:

} "D… do you think I should tell Celestia?"

I froze for a fraction of a second.

Because this was a risk for him.

An admission.

A plea.

He wanted guidance but was terrified of the answer.

I weighed it—what he needed, what Val already knew, what was safe to reveal, and what would make him shut down if handled wrong.

Then I said:

"I'll… tell her myself."

His head snapped up.

I kept going.

"We'll think of a solution together, okay?"

Not a lie.

Not a reveal.

Just a bridge that let him breathe.

Lucien exhaled shakily—almost collapsing back into his chair. "Thanks, man. You're—you're a lifesaver."

I didn't smile. His face said enough. He was pale. Stressed. His knee was bouncing again. His hands trembled faintly every few seconds.

Lucien looked like a man standing on the edge of a cliff he didn't even realize he'd walked toward.

I leaned forward slightly. "Hey. Look at me."

He did.

"It's going to be okay."

I said it calmly.

Even though I didn't fully believe it.

Even though this was spiraling into something none of us completely understood yet.

But someone had to say it. Someone had to give him a place to stand.

His shoulders eased a little—not much, but enough.

We sat there in silence for a moment—him gripping his cup, me watching the quiet panic settle behind his eyes.

Eventually, he stood.

"I'll… I'll go home," he murmured. "I need to think."

"Text me if anything changes."

He nodded slowly, then walked out of the café—shoulders hunched, steps uneven, like each one weighed twice as much as the last.

I stayed seated for a few seconds.

Then leaned back and let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.

This wasn't small.

Not by a long shot.

And while Lucien walked toward the storm…

I was already thinking of the next step.

Val.

Her dad.

What this meant.

And how deep Benjamin Otavio had sunk his claws.

But that was for later.

For now, I stood, picked up my briefcase, and headed for the door—because whatever came next…

It was only going to get more complicated.

---

To be continued...