The Golden Child's Downfall

On the day of my father's 60th birthday, Ivan Jacoby's son ran up to him with a carton of Parliament cigarettes to wish him a happy birthday. Walter Jacoby beamed so broadly that his face looked like a wrinkled prune. Then, he immediately handed the boy a large check. I nudged my five-year-old boy, Colton Gavell, forward. "Come on, kiddo. Go wish Grandpa a happy birthday, too." Colton trotted over, clutching the expensive cigar box I'd prepared in advance, saying sweetly, "Happy birthday, Grandpa!" Walter glanced at the gift, and his expression darkened. The next second, he raised his hand and slapped Colton across the face. "A hillbilly's son is truly nothing but a hillbilly himself." The cigar box fell to the floor and burst open. Colton stood frozen in place, so stunned that he even forgot to cry. My mother, Rosalie Scriver, rushed over to shield him. Walter immediately slapped her across the face as well. "Look at the son you insisted on bringing back into this family! He couldn't even be bothered to buy a carton of Parliament cigarettes!" My wife, Megan Walsh, wrapped her arms around our son, her eyes bloodshot as she demanded to know what gave Walter the right to hit people. He raised his hand and gave her a slap for good measure before saying, "You have some nerve opening your mouth! You've been married into this family for years, yet you still haven't managed to hide the stench of poverty clinging to your husband." During the three years since I'd been reunited with the Jacoby family, I'd kept telling myself that they'd accept me with time. Now, I didn't see the point in waiting anymore. So, I stormed forward, slapped Walter hard across the face, and growled, "Just because I've forced myself to put up with your arrogance doesn't mean you can lay a hand on my love ones." Chapter 1 The End of Three Years of Patience The members of the Jacoby Residence had been dressed up to the nines for the birthday banquet that evening. Luxury cars filled the driveway, rows of champagne towers stood in the banquet hall, and the crystal chandeliers shone so brightly they almost hurt my eyes. I sat at the very end of the long table with my wife, Megan Walsh, beside me. Her fingers rested lightly on the back of my hand. My “brother,” Ivan Jacoby, and I had been switched at birth. Yet, there he sat beside the seat of honor, impeccably dressed in his tailored suit. He had a warm, gentle smile on his face as his son, Elliot Jacoby, carried a carton of Parliament cigarettes over to our father and said sweetly, "Grandpa, happy birthday!" My father, Walter Jacoby, grinned so broadly that the wrinkles around his eyes bunched together. He accepted the cigarettes and affectionately patted Elliot on the head before pulling a large check from his pocket. "Thank you, Elliot. How sweet of you." I remained silent at the far end of the table. Megan gently nudged my hand from beneath the table. I lowered my gaze to my five-year-old son, Colton Gavell. He had worn a kiddie suit fitting for the occasion and held a dark wooden box in his arms. However, inside the box were premium, limited-edition cigars that my adoptive father loved more than anything. Still, I ruffled Colton's head. "Colton, go wish Grandpa a happy birthday." His eyes lit up, and he hurried over with the box. "Happy birthday, Grandpa!" He held it up high, eager to show off his gift. However, Walter's smile vanished the moment he saw the box. He frowned and asked, "What's this supposed to be?" Colton answered earnestly, "These are the cigars Grandpa likes to smoke." Walter's expression darkened completely. He stared at Colton, and he said coldly, "Didn't your father teach you that when you give an elder a gift, you don't pass off some piece of junk and expect them to be grateful?" Colton froze. "It's not junk." His little voice grew quieter. "Grandpa said these were really good." Walter suddenly raised his hand. "Just as I'd expect. A hillbilly's son is truly nothing but a hillbilly himself." I heard Colton let out a short cry as the slap landed. The wooden box hit the floor, sending several cigars rolling across the ground. The entire hall fell silent. Something inside me snapped. Megan had already rushed over and pulled Colton into her arms. Half of his face was already swelling up as tears welled in his eyes, but he was too frightened to cry aloud. My mother, Rosalie Scriver, rose from her seat as well. Her voice trembled as she confronted Walter. "Walter, how could you hit him?" He turned around and slapped her without hesitation. "This is all your fault for spoiling him!" Rosalie stumbled back half a step, catching herself against the edge of the table before she could fall. "Our family wouldn't have ended up like this if you hadn't insisted on bringing this wild, uncultured swine back into the family all those years ago!" Megan looked up at him, her eyes bloodshot. "Walter, Colton is only five!" Walter turned toward her, his eyes full of contempt. "And what right do you have to speak? You've been married into this family for years, yet you still haven't managed to hide the stench of poverty clinging to your husband." He raised his hand. Sure enough, the slap landed squarely across Megan's face. I watched her head jerk to the side as the loose strands of hair beside her ear fell across her cheek. Colton finally burst into tears. "Mommy!" Walter saw me rushing toward him and sneered, raising his hand again. "What? You think you can defy me now?" His hand came swinging toward my face. I stepped forward and seized his wrist. He glared at me. "Unhand me right this instant!" I didn't. "You hit my son. You hit my mother. And now you've even hit my wife." I looked him straight in the eye, my voice coming out in a quiet hiss. "Walter Jacoby, do you really think I wouldn't dare hit you back?" He sneered. "I'm your father!" I showed him how little that meant to him the very next second as I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. The sound cracked through the banquet hall. Every relative in the room froze. Ivan shot to his feet. "Ian Gavell, have you lost your mind?" I didn't even look at him. Instead, I bent down and scooped Colton into my arms. Once I had him securely with one arm, I took Megan's hand with the other before turning to my mother. "Mom, come with me." Rosalie's face had gone deathly pale, tears filling her eyes. She looked at Walter, and then at the child in my arms. Finally, she stepped over to stand beside me. Walter was shaking with rage. "Rosalie! Just try walking out that door!" My mother didn't look back. Neither did I. … When we got to the entrance, Ivan hurried after us, lowering his voice as he muttered, "Ian, this is Dad's birthday banquet! Do you have any idea what you've done? What will people say about our family when word gets out?" I stopped in my tracks. "Reputation?" I let out a short laugh. "Why didn't anyone think about the family's reputation when he hit my son earlier?" His expression stiffened. I tightened my hold on Colton and left the old residence with my wife and mother. I heard the sound of glass crashing against the floor behind me. It was probably Walter throwing a fit. After today, I knew I had drawn a line in the sand after waiting for three years for my father to come around. I was done. Chapter 2 Every Application Ends Up on My Desk Colton only burst into tears once we got into the car. He buried his face against Megan's chest, his slight shoulders trembling with every sob. "Mommy, did I bring the wrong present?" Megan's tears fell upon hearing his words. "No, sweetheart. You didn't do anything wrong." I sat in the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel so tightly that my knuckles turned white. Rosalie sat in the backseat. The red mark on her face had yet to fade. She kept her head lowered, looking as though all the strength had been drained from her. As we drove away from the old residence, the neon lights outside the windows blurred together. Then, I heard my mother whisper, "Ian, I'm sorry." I glanced at her through the rearview mirror. "Mom, you have nothing to apologize for." "If only I'd taken better care of you back then…" Her voice trailed off. I knew what she was referring to. The Jacoby family and another family had given birth at the same private hospital 28 years ago. Later, the hospital discovered that the babies had been switched at birth. Ivan, the boy the Jacoby family had raised, wasn't their biological son. Instead, I was the one who carried the Jacoby bloodline. Unfortunately, I had also grown up in a small town in the south. The truth finally came to light three years ago. Rosalie had nearly fallen apart when she found out. She went to the countryside herself to find me, crying and apologizing over and over. She begged me to come home, telling me she owed me 25 years of motherly love. And so I went with her. … However, Walter had never once treated me with kindness, starting from the very first day I stepped through the Jacoby family's doors. If anything, he looked down on my adoptive parents, and he scorned me just as much. It was no surprise that he favored Ivan above all else. I had endured it all this while because Rosalie had been caught in the middle of it all, and I knew how much she was suffering. Megan was my adoptive mother's niece. We'd grown up together as childhood sweethearts. She had helped me keep my identity a secret as she accompanied me back to the Jacoby family, enduring their cold stares and colder snubs right alongside me. "You wanted to wait until we had enough evidence," she'd told me. "So, I'll wait with you." But today, they laid their hands on Colton. My adoptive parents, Charles Gavell and Elaine Walsh, had warned me long ago, saying sternly, "You can return to that family if you want, but don't ever lower yourself until you're crawling in the dirt for their acknowledgement. You're not alone in this world. You have people standing behind you." Those weren't just comforting words to tide me over. G&W Agricultural Group was an empire Charles and Elaine had built with their own two hands. Their company had stakes across ecological farms and cold-chain logistics to overseas ranches, food processing, industrial investment funds, and cultural tourism projects. Even though G&W had grown steadily over the years, the founders kept a remarkably low profile. The outside world was only aware that a rather discreet married couple stood behind G&W. Very few people knew that I'd started working for the group at 22 and was now in charge of its Bluewater region operations. Now, I was done waiting. … When we got home, Megan rushed to apply an ice pack to Colton's face. He was exhausted from all the crying, so he had fallen asleep in her arms with his hands wrapped around her neck. Still, his sleep was far from restful as he continued to hiccup between quiet sobs. I stood at the doorway of his bedroom, my chest aching at the pitiful sight. Megan carefully laid him down and tiptoed out. When she looked at me, her voice was hoarse. "Ian, I don't want Colton seeing the Jacobys anymore." "You have my word. Never again," I vowed. "I'll never forget the way your father hit him today, not for the rest of my life." I reached out and pulled her into my arms. "Neither will I." Rosalie sat on the living room sofa, silent. I poured her a glass of warm water and handed it to her. She looked up at me, her eyes red-rimmed. "Ian, your father wasn't always like this." I sat down across from her and said firmly, "Mom, he's always been like this. You just didn't want to see it." She froze. She parted her lips to argue, but she had nothing to say in his defense. That was because she knew that deep down, Walter's favoritism wasn't a recent development. It was hard not to notice his bias when he'd given me a meaningless position at the company but refused to let me anywhere near its core operations the year I'd returned to the Jacoby family. He claimed he was worried I didn't understand the workings of a large company and would embarrass the family. And it only happened because of one comment from Ivan. He had said, "Ian's only just returned. He needs time to adjust." That was enough for Walter to hand Ivan the reins to every position of real authority in the company. In the second year that marked my return to the family, Jacoby Realty ran into a cash crunch. I introduced several contacts in the cultural tourism industry, hoping to help tide them over during their financial crisis. However, Walter didn't even bother to look at the information. "What kind of projects can your country bumpkin friends possibly negotiate?" he'd scoffed in disdain. Another year had passed, making this my third year with them. This year also marked the year Jacoby Realty had begun aggressively seeking a partnership with G&W to develop an agricultural and cultural tourism destination. Unfortunately for them, they had no idea that every application they submitted would eventually land on my desk. Chapter 3 The Jacoby Family's Bargaining Chip Ivan called me the next day. "Ian, Dad was so furious with you that he ended up in the hospital. Everyone in the family saw you slap him. Have you thought about the consequences?" I stood at the far end of the hallway in my actual home. "The mark on my son's face hasn't faded yet." Ivan sighed, putting on an air of faux resignation. "Ian, can you blame Dad when you sent Colton over with those cheap cigarettes to get under his skin?" I briefly closed my eyes. A single cigar from that box cost more than ten cartons of the cigarettes his son had given Walter. I sneered. "Ivan, can you swear that you'll say the same thing if someone hit your son?" His tone turned cold over the phone. "Don't compare your kid to Elliot. Elliot knows how to behave. He'd never embarrass an elder like that." I asked only one question. "Did you call to apologize, or are you going to keep making excuses for him?" Ivan's voice hardened. "Do you really have to take things this far?" "You crossed the line first." I hung up on him right after that. … Avery Newell, Ivan's wife, texted me less than 30 minutes later. Every word positively dripped with unearned superiority. "Ian, don't take this the wrong way, but you should really learn how things work in high society now that you've returned to the Jacoby family. Everyone knows what Dad likes. "Yet, you deliberately got him something so inappropriate and ended up getting a child scolded in the process. What was even the point behind all this?" I deleted the message as soon as I'd finished reading it. Megan came out of the children's bedroom. When she saw the dark look on my face, she asked, "The Jacobys?" I nodded. "What did they want?" "The same old song and dance." She didn't ask any more questions. … By the time Colton woke up, Rosalie already had lunch prepared for us. He sat at the dining table and suddenly looked up at his grandmother. "Grandma, does Grandpa not like me?" Rosalie's hand shook around her cutlery. Megan's eyes reddened all over again. I walked over and crouched in front of Colton. "A child doesn't need to like every adult they see." Colton blinked at me. "In that case, can I stop liking this grandpa?" "Of course." I gently ruffled his head. "Who you like and who you don't like is your choice." Rosalie turned away and discreetly wiped her eyes. … Walter had his assistant contact me that evening. The assistant's tone was polite, but his words were anything but pleasant. "Mr. Ian, Mr. Jacoby said that this matter can be swept under the rug if you return home and personally apologize to him and Mr. Ivan. Otherwise, you'll no longer have access to any of Jacoby Realty's resources." I sat in my study, looking at the documents sent over by G&W's headquarters. My eyes fell on the screen where the due diligence report for Jacoby Realty's agricultural and cultural tourism project was written in black and white. The assessment was damning: the project was classified as high-risk with an enormous funding shortfall. It had no core operational capabilities to speak of. Even worse, it had a series of irregular related-party transactions. I studied those lines and replied calmly, "Tell Walter Jacoby that I don't need Jacoby Realty's resources." The assistant was stunned. I ended the call. Megan walked in with a cup of coffee. When she saw the report on my screen, she asked, "Is that Jacoby Realty's project?" "Yes." "Are you planning to block it?" I closed the file. "The project has problems to begin with." Over the years, Jacoby Realty had relied on highly leveraged real estate expansion to develop their company. So, the company was little more than a house of cards right now. It might look pretty on the outside, but it had no real substance to it. Its latest plan was to pivot toward agricultural and cultural tourism. The company wanted to use G&W's brand, supply chain, and investment funds to lend credibility to the project. That way, they could secure more bank financing to keep itself afloat. I might be persuaded to handle the matter strictly as a business decision if the company's transaction had all been aboveboard. Alas, the report had already uncovered several inconsistencies in the companies affiliated with Ivan. The money wasn't going where it should have been going. In other words, the project hadn't even yet begun to bear fruit, but its roots were already long rotten. Chapter 4 The Newells' Debt and the Jacoby Downfall Jacoby Realty began running into trouble half a month later. First, the company fell behind on payments for its Westside development project, prompting several contractors to gather outside its headquarters and demand their money. Then, a bank called in a bridge loan ahead of schedule. After that, the prospective partners for the agricultural and cultural tourism project started to reconsider their decision. Now, no one was willing to be the first to sign the papers. Walter grew anxious, so he pinned all his hopes on Ivan. In Walter's eyes, Ivan was the son who most resembled him. He knew how to entertain clients, speak smoothly, navigate all kinds of drinking parties, and make every elder feel thoroughly pleased with himself. More importantly, Ivan had married Avery Newell. The Newell family had once been one of the city's wealthiest families, having built its fortune in mining and import-export businesses. Although they had kept a lower profile in recent years, their financial foundations still commanded respect among the older generation. Walter had always believed that Jacoby Realty would have someone to bail it out if they were ever in hot water since the Newells were Ivan's in-laws. To his dismay, the Newells had excuse after excuse at the ready when the time came for their financial support. Jacoby Realty submitted documents listing the Newell family as a potential strategic investor to prove that it had external financial backing. When the risk management department launched an investigation, they uncovered a mountain of problems related to this matter. Apparently, several Newell companies had been classified as high-risk entities two years earlier, and nearly all their assets had been pledged as collateral. Megan was sitting across from me as I reviewed the documents, helping Colton build something out of his blocks. She looked up and asked, "Does the Newell family really have no money left?" I pushed the report toward her. "They're even more deeply in debt than Jacoby Realty." She flipped through several pages, her expression changing. "Does Ivan know about this?" I pointed to several entries detailing the movement of funds. "Not only does he know, but he's also been helping the Newells pay off their debts thus far." Megan fell silent. I continued reading. Jacoby Realty had three supply chain companies that were supposedly responsible for procuring equipment and materials for the initial stages of the agricultural and cultural tourism project. Nevertheless, the money never went toward purchasing equipment or building warehouses after the funds were disbursed. Instead, it passed through several consulting firms before eventually landing in accounts used to pay off the Newell family's debts. Over three years, the amount had come to nearly 1.2 billion dollars—and that was only what the preliminary investigation had uncovered. I closed the file, a cold weight pressing against my chest. Rosalie had endured far too much over the years for the sake of the Jacoby family. Yet, her husband treated a child who wasn't even his own as a treasure, while that very son bled the family fortune dry. She had spent all these years believing she was indebted to the Jacoby family. When in reality, the Jacoby family had been indebted to her from the very beginning. … The crisis at Jacoby Realty erupted far sooner than I'd anticipated. I'd initially thought the company might be able to hold on to their sinking ship for another six months, but one problem after another dogged their steps once the Westside development came to a screeching halt in March. In early April, the contractors working on the agricultural and cultural tourism project collectively sent formal letters demanding payment. By mid-April, a notice that the bank was withdrawing its loans arrived at Jacoby Realty's headquarters. Walter could no longer sit still and wait for things to turn around for the better. So, he personally brought Ivan and Avery to G&W's Bluewater headquarters. … That morning, I arrived at the office ahead of schedule. My secretary asked, "Mr. Gavell, should we receive them as arranged?" I nodded and stood up. "Let's go." When the conference room doors opened, all three people inside looked up simultaneously. Walter noticed the secretary first, and then saw me following behind him. His expression shifted from impatience to utter disbelief. "What are you doing here?" he questioned sharply. I didn't answer. Instead, I walked straight to the head of the table and took my seat. The secretary placed a file in front of me and spoke respectfully. "Mr. Gavell, this is the strategic investment proposal for Jacoby Realty ahead of its bankruptcy restructuring. We're waiting for your final decision."