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PROLOGUE
TRISTAN
Tristan West sat in his yoga room, his hands resting on his lap, his palms facing up, and his breath slow and meditative. Music played in the background, a collection of gentle wind chimes and the melody of singing bowls. The lights were dim, incense was burning, and the atmosphere was incredibly peaceful. Tristan’s green eyes were closed. He wore a pair of shorts and a T-shirt, and his black hair was still messy from his earlier workout. It was early January, the beginning of a new year, and all should have felt calm and meditative.
Tristan was making a to-do list in his head.
As a young tech billionaire (press articles always pointed out how impressive he was at just thirty-three years old), Tristan liked to tell people that his success was thanks to a careful routine of hard work, exercise, and meditation. The first two were true enough — Tristan did work hard, and he exercised daily. The last was a bit of a stretch, though. Although he regularly tried to meditate, he always ended up letting his thoughts drift to other things.
Like the new app rollout he was preparing for the following week. Or the tech seminar he’d be attending, as a keynote speaker, on Wednesday. Or the pile of applications for a new assistant he needed to go through, since his current assistant was about to go on maternity leave. Tristan was more than a little annoyed about that. It was hard for him to understand why people were so willing to sacrifice their careers for their children. For Tristan, his company was his baby — and was probably the closest he’d ever come to anactualbaby.
Tristan’s phone began to ring and, grateful for the excuse to end his meditation session early, he reached for it and swiped to answer.
“Tristan West.”
“This is Kevin Hahn.” The voice on the other end belonged to Tristan’s lawyer.
“How can I help you, Kevin?” Tristan referred to everyone by their first name and encouraged them to do the same with him. It was part of moving with the times instead of being mired in old traditions.
“You can let me in.” Kevin’s voice sounded a little strained. “I’m outside your house.”
“Really?” Tristan glanced at his watch. It was barely six thirty in the morning. Even stranger, his lawyer had never come to his house before. Immediately, Tristan began to mentally review everything that could present a legal issue big enough for his lawyer to show up so early at his house. “Is this about the copyright for the new app?”
“No. It’s, well, rather more personal.”
Tristan took a deep breath, inhaled a little too much incense, and stifled a cough. “Then what is it?”
“This should be discussed in person, Mr. West.”
“I’ll be down in a minute, then. And please, call me Tristan.” Tristan hung up, blew out the incense, and headed downstairs. He lived in a luxurious five-bedroom mansion and, since he lived here alone, he had the freedom to decorate it as he wished. That meant that his home boasted all the latest appliances, a yoga studio, a gym, a home office that was just as modern as his actual office, a couch in the living room that looked more like an oversized semicolon than a piece of furniture, and a daily cleaner and chef to keep everything running smoothly. Tristan loved this house.
He descended the open staircase to the foyer, where he crossed the shining marble floor to let Kevin in. His lawyer was standing on the stoop in a suit and tie, his briefcase in his hand. He avoided Tristan’s eyes as he stepped inside.
“Shoes off, please,” Tristan said.
Kevin sighed but complied. He followed Tristan into the dining room in his argyle socks then stood stiffly by the counter while Tristan poured himself a glass of water with turmeric and lemon.
“Would you like some?” he asked, holding up the glass to the lawyer.
“No, thank you. I think you should sit down.”
For the second time that morning, a ripple of unease skittered down Tristan’s spine. His lawyer seemed stiffer than usual. What if something was wrong with Tristan’s company after all, something so serious that Kevin hadn’t wanted to tell him over the phone? He did as Kevin asked and slid onto a barstool.
“What’s going on? Is everything okay with the company?”
“Yes. Professionally, all is as it should be.”
“Great.” Tristan relaxed a little. “All the copyrights for the new app are still all right?”
“Yes, yes.” Kevin nodded. “Your company is as strong as ever. What I need to talk to you about is more personal… and it might come as a bit of a surprise.”
“All right.” Tristan took a sip of his beverage. With the reassurance that his business was safe, he was no longer very concerned. His parents were both deceased, and Tristan had no siblings and no spouse or children, so there weren’t very many personal things in his life that could be in danger. And there was little that could surprise him.
Kevin set his briefcase on the counter, clicked it open, and withdrew a sheaf of papers. “Your father…” he scanned the top sheet, “Benjamin West… he’s deceased now, is that correct?”
“Yes, both he and my mother passed away almost ten years ago.” Tristan wasn’t sure what this could be about. His parents’ will had long since been sorted out; the money that had been held in trust for him was now his, and there were no outstanding issues with his parents that could draw a lawyer to his home before dawn.
“I’m sorry for your loss.”