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Miami is oppressively sweltering. Climate change has not been kind, but the latest in technology keeps the city within a habitable temperature and humidity and above sea level. The complex is modern and sleek, just steps from the beach and perched at the edge of an artificial lake. The best money can buy. The luxury condo is temperature controlled, thank fuck, even here on the open-air balcony overlooking the waterfront.
Roman brings two lemonades and sets the one with a straw on the side table next to the wheelchair. Pausing, he reaches over Gerri’s shoulder to wrap his finger around a delicate white lock of hair. “The hairdresser really gave you the I am absolutely going to get railed tonight hair,” he teases, a wolfish grin across his lips.
Gerri stiffly turns just enough from her seat to glare at him over her glasses. “The world supply of erectile dysfunction pills wouldn’t be enough to get you to perform,” she tells him.
“Oh, challenge accepted,” Roman snorts. He plops down on the floor next to her and rests his head on her thigh, placing his lemonade on the floor.
Gerri rests a weathered hand on his head, manicured nails scratching into his scalp. “Thank you,” she murmurs as she picks up her lemonade. “You’re being good today.”
Roman makes a noncommittal hum. He is being good, he knows. Well, good for him. He drops in unexpectedly all the time, almost kicking in the door, often interrupting. This time, he’d sent a message ahead of his flight, with enough time ahead for Gerri to get her hair and makeup on. Not that he ever minds when she isn’t done up in loose curls and red lipstick, but he knows she likes to be put together.
When he arrived that morning, Roman fluttered around complaining and looking for something to do (“Yes, these are roses. Shut up about it. The morning nurse left the AC too cold. Let me bring it down. The dishes are already clean? Didn’t you just have breakfast? I can put them away then. Let me put something on the TV. How do you turn on this stupid thing again? Ugh… No, yeah— ATN is fine. Whatever. It’s just in the background.”) and then insisted on sitting on the balcony, only now settling down.
It had been Gerri’s daughters’ decision to move her to a Living+ complex when her health dipped down. That’s not to say that Roman didn’t help along with the process, pulling strings and calling favors. He made sure she is living in the best condo at the best complex Living+ has to offer. The best view. The best amenities. The best medicine to keep Gerri’s delicate heart beating.
Shaking off how she read him, Roman glances up with a tugged-on grin and says, “Not being disgusting enough for you? How’s this: I would crawl through broken glass to get you to slap me in the face with your boob.”
Gerri scoffs but the edge of her lip twitches up. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” she says. They’re quiet as she takes a sip of her lemonade through the straw and they watch the sun gleam over the water and the skyscrapers and watch the cars whiz by. She finally says, “You have something on your mind.”
Now Roman sighs. Might as well get this over with. “Port being the Chair at ATN is making me feel all… ugh,” he muttered, wrinkling his nose and shuddering at the end. ATN is still humming in the living room, going on about the future of uploading your consciousness into a computer or whatever bullshit they’re shilling this week. He scoots around to face her, cheek on her knee as he looks up through his eyelashes. “I don’t know what I was expecting. Port was born and raised in it.”
“She literally has a degree in Business from Minnesota and an MBA from Cornell, just like her father,” Gerri points out, continuing her head scratching to try to soothe Roman. It only marginally helps.
“I know. I know. Port was always a lost cause,” Roman says. “I was hoping Sophie might get out of it. Be a kickass lawyer that defends the little guy. Really stick it to her dad. And then someone,” he quirks an eyebrow up and points directly at Gerri, “hand-picked her to be the new General Counsel for Waystar.”
Gerri snorted softly. They’d had this conversation countless times. Her response is well-rehearsed at this point. “She sought out my guidance and advice all through college and law school,” she says evenly. Even at her age, she remains sharp and alert. “It couldn’t have been anyone else. She is a strong, intelligent woman and an excellent lawyer with good instincts.”
Roman pouts harder, annoyed at the umpteenth time hearing Gerri say some version of this. Even if her lawyer voice makes him feel all tingly like always. “Well, she could have been a strong, intelligent woman and an excellent lawyer with good instincts elsewhere,” he mutters and then lets out a scoff that borders on disgusted, “And fuck, poor Iverson. He’s getting squished under Ken’s thumb. It’s just—” He grimaces, not quite looking at Gerri now. “Can we talk about something else? Please?”
Gerri nods once and says without missing a beat, “I think my neighbor is cheating on her husband. I see men coming in and out of her condo all the time.”
Roman snorts hard, almost laughing, and scoots around to settle in and watch the landscape. “You do not want to know how much of Living+’s medical services go into treating geriatric venereal diseases and removing things out of assholes,” he says. “I’m as clean as a whistle though.”
It’s only a few moments of peace before he hears his phone buzzing and throwing out lights, signs that someone has been trying to reach out to him multiple times now. Right, he’d left it over there during his whirlwind impulse to be helpful. With a grunt, Roman heaves himself up to his feet, gives Gerri’s shoulder a light squeeze, and pads over to the kitchen for his phone. “Huh, Iverson’s calling,” he comments out loud. Speak of the devil.
Weird. He’s not that close with Kendall’s kids, even if he does think of them. He does still taps a bud into his ear and answers the call. “Iverson! I still haven’t forgiven you for obliterating me when I humbly extended an invitation to play your favorite game with you, you dick.” His nephew is silent for a beat too long. He knows his jokes especially don’t land with Iverson, so Roman adds, “You’re good, kid. You played a good game. So, uh… talk to me.”
“Yeah, so…” Iverson starts. “Port visited you at your villa, right?”
Roman stops and puts his hands on his hips. “Uh-huh…” He feels that same sinking feeling he felt when Portia visited him with ulterior motives. “What about it?”
“Did— Did she tell you she was going to be Chair at ATN?” It’s like the words are being squeezed out of him.
Suppressing a frustrated groan, Roman rolls his head back and heaves a deep breath as he rests his hands on his hips. He would be more irked if it isn’t Iverson. Kendall probably put him up to digging up dirt from anywhere. “No, she didn’t say anything about it,” he says with a dry tone. It is the honest truth.
“I’m sorry. Dad asked me to do this,” Iverson mumbles. And ugh, it does tug at Roman’s heartstrings just a bit, whether intended or not. He has to resist. Kendall is definitely behind this.
“I know. You have to do what you have to do, Mr. Hot Shit CFO,” Roman says, flat but with warmth at the edges. He starts pacing around between the open kitchen and the living room, glancing over at Gerri. There’s no way she’s listening from outside over the AC, but it’s instinct to look over his shoulder. “I don’t actually pay attention to whatever is going on with the family business.” As if he hasn’t been continuously looking up Portia’s name in case she becomes CEO or accidentally burns down ATN by some miracle or curse.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it, but I figured since you’re still on the board—”
“As an ‘Independent Director’,” Roman points out, cutting in, the quotes audible. “It’s a vanity title Matsson so graciously gave me after he bought the company from under us. I’m surprised Tom hasn’t kicked me out yet, but I guess he doesn’t care ‘cause I don’t sway the vote either way and he’s leaving soon anyway, so.”
Iverson’s voice goes up an octave. “Uncle Tom is leaving soon?”
Roman freezes. Fuck. That’s a rookie mistake. He’s lost his edge. Recovering quickly, he scoffs hard and says, “Fuck if I know. I don’t know what happens in the clown factory. I’m just guessing ‘cause he’s fucking ancient.”
“Oh. Okay…” Iverson mutters, uncertain.
Then another voice. “How do you know Tom is retiring?”
That’s not Iverson. That’s Kendall.
It’s a jolt to Roman’s system. “Oh ho ho ho, fuck this,” he says, shaking with an incredulous laugh. “Fuck you.”
“No, Roman. Listen—” Kendall insists.
“Kendall, what the fuck?”
Whatever breakdown Roman is having, Kendall still presses on. “Is Tom retiring soon? How soon?”
“No. No, no, no, no, no. Nope!” Roman hurries over to the counter to reach for his phone. “I am not playing this game.”
“I— We are just concerned about the future of Waystar and—”
“You run one of Waystar’s ancestral rivals,” Roman spits back, pausing to get a few more swings in before he hangs up. “So, fuck off with your concern.”
“Why are you so concerned about the company?” Kendall snaps, some heat behind his voice. “You act so above it like you don’t give a shit, yet you still have your seat on the board. If you don’t give a fuck so much, why don’t you step aside then and fuck off?”
Why does he still give a fuck? Hold on to a seat he isn’t using? Roman chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking, before he blurts out, “Because it’s fucking Dad’s company, okay? Is that what you want me to say?” It’s his family’s company in an abstract way that supersedes what contracts say. It’s his brother-in-law’s company, potentially soon to be either of his nieces’ company. It’s all still tangled up together.
The other end of the line is silent as if taking it in. “That’s why I’m concerned too,” Kendall says, even and sure. “Because it’s Dad’s company.”
Roman scoffs in disgust, snapping out of the happy family moment. “For fuck’s sake. Gerri!” Phone in hand, he hurries back to the balcony and basically slams it onto the side table as he puts it on speaker. “Gerri, listen to this bullshit.”
“You’re visiting Gerri?” Kendall says, audible to everyone, sounding thrown. “Roman, c’mon—”
“Hello, Kendall,” Gerri greets him, voice cool, not startled at all.
Kendall is still faltering. “You shouldn’t be bothering Gerri. She should be resting.”
“I am resting. I’m fine. Don’t act concerned about me now,” Gerri says placidly, “Bring me up to speed.”
Kendall speaks before Roman can get a word in. “I am checking in as a concerned outside party to see the status of the leadership at Waystar in the face of Tom’s potential retirement.”
Gerri raises her eyebrows at Roman. He half-shrugs. Yeah, he might be. With a soft sigh, she says, “Kendall, we are not at liberty to discuss—”
“Gerri, it’s me,” Kendall says through an incredulous chuckle. “You know me. I just want to know what the fuck is going on with the company.”
“Yeah, and not that you want to put your grubby little claws inside again,” Roman says, helpfully wiggling his fingers at claws. “You just want to make sure your daughter is still next in line and you’re sucking up to me because you know you can’t suck up to her. If you’re trying to suck up to a board member, go suck up to Stewy. He’d appreciate your mouth on his dick much more than me.”
“Roman, don’t bring Stewy—”
Roman has had enough. “Hey, FBI! DOJ! NSA!” he starts howling. “Anyone else that’s listening! Corporate espionage! Corporate espionage!”
“This is not corporate espionage,” Kendall calls out over his yelling.
Roman stops making a racket and starts snapping his fingers and pointing a finger between Gerri and his phone. “Gerri, do your thing! Do your thing!”
Gerri gives him a pursed lip look, but she does straighten up a bit as she says, “If we were to continue to discuss this, assuming it is in good faith, we must evaluate any potential liabilities and conflicts that could arise and could put any of the parties involved at risk, including and especially those in Waystar. Until then, this conversation is over.” She sharply raises an eyebrow at Roman to give him the best advice any lawyer can give their client: shut the fuck up.
“But—”
“This conversation is over.”
There’s a long silence from the other end of the line. Kendall finally says, “We’ll keep talking later. Keep this channel open.” And then they hang up.
Roman exhales and hangs his head, suddenly exhausted. Though a smile does tug at his lips. “Still a stone-cold killer bitch,” he says. “It turns me on when you kick someone’s shit in.”
“Tom is retiring?” Gerri asks, all business.
Grimacing, Roman just shrugs and throws a hand up. “According to Port, yeah,” he says. “When she visited me, she told me she overheard him say that to Greg and thinks it’ll be at the shareholder’s meeting that’s coming up.”
Gerri lets out a soft hum. “That’s quite a quick turnaround,” she says. “And do you think Port has the potential to be chosen to step up?”
“No shot. Port is smart, but she’s too green,” Roman says. He frenetically waves a hand in the air to dismiss it. “Anyway, whatever. I don’t care. Not my circus, not my monkeys.”
“Of course,” is the only thing Gerri says to that.
His phone starts to buzz again. Iverson. Despite his better judgment, Roman jams his finger against it to answer it. “What the fuck is it now?”
“It’s just me,” Iverson says quickly. “I promise. Dad left.”
Roman and Gerri exchange a look. Roman asks, deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fresh betrayal, “What do you want now? And sorry you had to hear all that shit.”
Iverson is silent for a beat. “Do you think there’s a chance Port could be CEO of Waystar?” he asks in a softer voice.
Another look is exchanged. Roman asks, “What are you thinking?”
“Well… if Port is CEO of Waystar and uh, well— Dad isn’t going to let Soph just on the lurch, so then she is CEO of Pierce in this case…” Iverson says slowly, starting and stopping, “Then I don’t have to be CEO of Pierce, right?”
Roman clicks his tongue and nods thoughtfully. Gerri purses her lips, looking almost impressed, and says, “I’ll give it to you, I’ve never heard a strategy like this before.”
“It’s not a strategy. I just— I’ve been thinking,” Iverson says. “I’m just good at seeing patterns, and… this is not going to look good if it keeps up. Everyone gets what they want here, I think.”
Gerri sighs and taps her nails against the armrest of her chair. “History never repeats, but it often rhymes,” she says to no one in particular.
“Just. Something I have in mind,” Iverson says, still sounding uneasy.
Roman clicks his tongue. “Next time, keep me the fuck out of all the scheming,” he says With that, he hangs up the phone and turns it off for good measure. He starts pacing the balcony behind Gerri, rubbing his head and chest to find some comfort after that conversation. “Well, there goes my boner.”
“Hey,” Gerri calls over her shoulder, a light smirk on her lips. Roman stops to listen. “Remember when we used to get drunk at Bemelmans and make out in that booth in the back?”
That instantly improves Roman’s mood.