*Ding*
The lift arrived at the destination, the topmost floor of executive suites, and the trio stepped out of it. They came nose to nose with another Lenner, a pale skinned, slim, dark-haired one whose eyebrows flew up in surprise, before his pale blue eyes narrowed as he frowned.
Alex passed by without so much as a glance, Lance showed his surprise at the meeting, then playfully wiggled his eyebrows at him, and Sharon only glanced at him, her blue eyes glinting with recognition as she recalled the information in the media about the Lenner family. They never stopped.
The young Lenner looked until the group went far away, before his brain made some connections, as it finished processing the influx of information, and his face took on the color of a pig's liver. He abruptly turned around on his feet, and hurried back to where he came from, a scowl growing in his face to take over half of his it, as if his lips were on their way up to hook onto the sky.
He reached one the offices on the last floor of the Group's building, and barged inside:
*BANG!* "DAD!"
The suite was large but simple, comfortable with the understated luxury it had been designed with. Behind the desk inside was a middle-aged man with a casual look that made him look less than his fifty something years of age. He raised his head up to the disturbance that barged into his work space, and calmly lowered the coffee cup at his lips.
Sigurd Lenner, the third son of Arland Lenner, easygoing and elegant, without the tight, authoritative appearance of his second brother, Marten Lenner. He looked at his son, who, in the words of his elder cousin, should learn to be content, like his genitor, and raised an eyebrow:
"Kris? What? Want more money?"
Kris froze, his anger stalling like the engine of a car left outside in winter. His lips twitched, recalling the reason why he was so tight on cash flow that he had been forced to come to his father like a beggar.
"No."
"That's good. You should learn to be independent. You should take an example on your elder cousin."
Sigurd nodded, and did the duty of a father to advise his son as he put the cup in his hand down. But his words only made Kris' engine restart impetuously, his anger resurfacing with even more momentum:
"My 'elder cousin', it is because of him that I have to empty my pocket to save my cars. It is because of him that I have to come here to beg you. So, if he is so independent, what the hell is he doing here!?!"
Sigurd didn't react to the emphasis Kris put on being sarcastic. He paused, his eyebrows raised, before he nodded, as if he understood something.
"I see."
Sigurd smiled. He leaned back in his seat, sipped his coffee, and explained before his son could explode:
"Your aunt is having some health issues, and she has decided to take a rest. Someone has to take over in the meantime. Your elder cousin is probably here for that."
Kris froze again, this time, out of shock. His eyes widened so much that they seemed ready to fly out of their positions. His face turned red like he was holding back the most painful diarrhea in existence, to the point that his father got curious, intrigued by his state, until the expected explosion happened, like a high-yield bomb going off:
"WHAT THE FUCK, DAD!?! THAT BASTARD NEVER CARED ABOUT THE GROUP BEFORE!!! HE NEVER CARED ABOUT THE FAMILY IN THE TRUEST SENSE!!! WHY THE FUCK DOES HE GET TO TAKE OVER!?!"
Sigurd sipped his coffee and calmly smiled, subtle amusement on his lips:
"Why are you getting so worked up? At least close the door before making a scene."
Kris glared at his nonchalant father, and turned to close the door before returning with an angry breath. He questioned, spitting only a single word seeped in suffocating frustration without any respect:
"Why?"
Sigurd didn't take offense. He simply looked at his son with a calm gaze holding a small smile, his head leaning down ever so slightly to touch his raised cul with his lips. The situation devolved into a standoff between the father and the son, until the latter lost, and his momentum deflated.
With an exhale, Kris relaxed his stance and took a seat across from his father. Finally, he asked the same question as earlier, but with a calmer tone this time:
"Why, dad? Even if it is just an interim, why does it have to be him? Why is it not those who have toiled for the Group? Why can't it be you, or even uncle Marten? Isn't Alex arrogant enough that he never had any interest in the Group? Why is he being a hypocrite now?"
Sigurd smiled, the soft laughter in his eyes showing that he really didn't care:
"Technically, Alex is only taking his rightful place. Don't forget that he is the heir your grandfather designated before breathing his last. His will is there to prove it. Alex's arrival here is something long overdue."
Kris's face twisted into an expression of anger. He glared at his father:
"Dad, are you really content? Will you stay in your small corner all your life, taking things as they come and never reaching for more? Are you satisfied?"
But all he got in response was a calm question from his father:
"Why not?"
The question pierced through Kris' defense and silenced him. He looked at his father, frustrated, disappointed, angry, and beyond that, dissatisfied.
Sigurd raised his eyebrows:
"What? Not satisfied? If you are not content and do not want to be like me, then fight for what you want. I'm not forcing you down any particular path, and you do not need to try to push me either. We might be father and son, but we remain two separate individuals. You can make your own choice, we all have our own paths."
Kris gave his father a long and deep look, then opened his mouth, calm:
"Then give me a post in the Group. Since you don't care, I will fight for what our family deserves myself. I don't believe that bastard is better than me in any way, and so long as he remains just a prospective heir, everything is up in the air. I won't let him have what he should not have."
Sigurd's easygoing smile came back, and he casually nodded:
"Alright."