The driver was already waiting at the garage, dressed in uniform. He bowed as Diana approached and opened the door for her. Daniel didn't wait, he opened his own door and slid inside.
The company headquarters loomed tall and sleek. As they pulled up, Diana reached out, her hand resting briefly on his knee.
"There'll be questions today," she said. "Just answer what you can. If you don't know something, let it go. Don't let them shake you."
They stepped out of the vehicle, greeted by security with practiced smiles. Inside, the building was chilled and efficient, glass, steel, murmured greetings. Daniel followed his mother to the elevator, returning polite nods to the staff who acknowledged him. He could feel their eyes on him, their expectations.
He kept his hands in his pockets.
Diana stood beside him, thumbing through her phone. She was adding more clothes to her digital cart, he recognized the designer names. She had closets full of things she never wore, but that never stopped her. Style was her language.
The elevator opened with a chime. Daniel stepped out into the executive floor. Everything here was quiet, controlled. The air was cleaner. He didn't know the lower floors well, but something told him they didn't feel like this.
A woman with a stack of files approached them. Her accent was crisp.
"The board has arrived," she said to Diana. "They're in the conference room. Mr. Gundi is with them already." She turned to Daniel with a warm but brief smile. "Your presence is requested."
Diana touched Daniel's arm, her hand steady and cool. "Your father's waiting," she said gently. "This is important, Daniel. Just like you are."
She looked to the woman—Celine—and nodded. "Take him in. I'll be in my office."
Celine inclined her head, her tone efficient. "Right away, Ma'am."
Diana's phone rang. She checked the screen, smiled, and answered with a soft "Hello," already drifting into conversation about a dress she'd found online.
"Follow me, sir," Celine began, but Daniel was already walking.
She quickened her pace to match him. He didn't smile. He rarely did. She'd noticed that the last time he visited. He was nothing like his father, no easy charm, no warmth. Just quiet resistance.
As they neared the conference room, Daniel glanced out the window at the skyline. He heard the soft murmurs from inside, the board, gathered and waiting.
Celine disappeared the moment they arrived, bowing slightly before retreating down the hallway.
He stood there for a second, just outside the door.
Then, without a word, Daniel reached for the handle.
The boardroom was a study in power and precision. A long, gleaming conference table anchored the space, surrounded by high-backed leather chairs. Sunlight poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting off polished hardwood floors and minimalist artwork. A discreet bar sat in the corner, stocked with refreshments. At the far end, a sleek digital screen awaited the day's presentation. The atmosphere was formal but not sterile, crafted to encourage decisive conversation.
Daniel stepped inside, his father already moving toward him. Mr. Gundi placed a firm hand on his shoulder and led him forward.
"Everyone," he said, "this is my son, Daniel Gundi, Jr."
Several heads turned. An older man with a silver watch extended his hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Daniel."
Daniel returned the handshake. The faces were polite, seasoned, and curious, evaluating him in silence even as they smiled. He recognized the pattern; this was the same exhausting routine he'd endured when he visited the company the week before, introductions, compliments, veiled expectations.
"Hi, nice to meet you, Daniel," said a young woman in a light green dress. Her smile was warm. Daniel's gaze lingered, caught off guard. She was the only one here near his age.
"You look good," he said, before he could stop himself.
She laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
Across the room, Mr. Gundi watched the exchange with quiet interest. His gaze moved from the girl back to his son. She could be a suitable match, he thought, if Daniel would ever allow himself the possibility.
"Look at him," said a woman with perfectly painted lips and youth still clinging to her face. "When did I last see him? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
She moved to embrace him. Daniel stepped back slightly. She noticed, covered the rejection with a breezy laugh.
"I'm Janet Monroe. I've been a close friend of the family for decades."
He gave her a small nod, unmoved.
"You probably don't remember," she continued, "but you were still so young when you fell off that horse. Bruised your arm, cried so hard." She chuckled at the memory. "I remember running to help you."
A vague image stirred in Daniel's mind, dirt, pain, embarrassment. He glanced at her again and vaguely recognized her. He remembered falling. He remembered trying not to cry in front of his parents.
She smiled, and Daniel moved on to greet the rest of the board. Formalities, practiced smiles. He knew the script.
Once everyone was seated, Mr. Gundi stood. "My son, Daniel Jr., will soon take over as head of the company," he said, his voice rich with pride. "I've watched him grow into this position, and I trust he'll carry this legacy forward."
There were approving murmurs. One man leaned back and said, "Well, the media already knows everything about your family, anyway."
Laughter followed.
"As the man with the most properties in the world, how could they not?" someone added.
"They can't seem to mind their own lives," a woman said, shaking her head with amusement.
The jokes faded as the meeting turned to projections and reports. The company's numbers were strong, third in the world by profit margin, with forecasts suggesting it could soon claim the top. The room brimmed with pride, strategy, and the scent of ambition.
When the meeting ended, the board members stood, shaking Daniel's hand again, this time with something closer to respect. He nodded, polite and reserved.
Father and son walked toward the executive wing, greeted by every staff member who passed. Mr. Gundi, still glowing from the meeting, spoke as they climbed the stairs.
"You know," he said, "this company came to me from your grandfather. I tripled its value. Built it brick by brick. Now it's yours to grow."
Daniel had heard it all before. But today, something felt different. He wondered, could I do even more than he did?
"All you need," his father continued, "is the right people. Hire smart. Work with those who know the game. If someone slacks off? Let them go. Business is about A's: Ability, Ambition, Accountability. One bad egg can ruin a dozen."
He gestured at the staff below, who bustled from desk to desk with practiced purpose.
"They know what's expected of them. That's why they deliver. But—" He paused, then looked at his son. "Don't become cold, or cruel. Set the standard, but be fair. Lead, don't lord. That's the difference."
They reached the top floor, where the secretary rose to greet them.
"Mrs. Diana is waiting in your office, sir."
"Thank you," Mr. Gundi said, nodding, before turning back to his son. "Let's go. I still have more to tell you."