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Rhys

M y alarm clock sounds on Monday morning. Why did I set my alarm this early? I was at my desk until only a few hours ago, preparing for my first official day as interim CEO. Every muscle in my body protests the idea of movement as I lie here. But then all the things I need to do come rushing back. It’s only been two days since the announcement, but already, I’m drinking from a firehose. I worked over fifteen hours yesterday—on a Sunday! I’ve got to go for a run, I tell myself. Running clears my head. It’s where I sort my thoughts, which I especially need to do now, with the weight of the company on my shoulders. CEO of EnergiFusion was Justin’s job. Where the hell is he?

My mind cycles through excuses I could use to skip the pounding ritual, and just as I’m about to give in to the siren call of more sleep, my phone erupts with my older sister Teagan’s ringtone. She lives in Kansas City, and the two-hour time difference rarely stops her from reaching out when the mood strikes. With a groan, I reach for the device, swiping the screen to answer.

“Rhys! I just saw the news.” Teagan’s voice bursts through the speaker, bubbling over with the kind of excitement that’s always been her signature trait. Teagan took care of my brother and sister and me after our dad died and our mother worked monster hours to keep food on the table and a roof over our head. She’s now married and mom to my two cute nieces.

I scrub a hand down my face, forcing my brain to engage. “What did you see?” My voice is sandpaper rough with the first words of the day.

“The news that you’re the interim CEO at EnergiFusion!” The pride in her tone is unmistakable, infectious even, and it pulls a reluctant smile from my lips.

“Wait. What?”

“It was in this morning’s Kansas City Star as ‘Local Boy Does Well’.” Teagan giggles. She is always happy. How she’s related to any of us is a mystery.

“I didn’t want it,” I mutter, the responsibility sitting like a boulder in my stomach.

Teagan chuckles. “You’re going to be amazing. I just know it.”

“Thanks.” I let her enthusiasm wash over me, pushing the exhaustion away. “It’s…a lot, more than I expected, to be honest. It’s all work right now.”

“It’s a new position. Are you still the head of finance too?” she asks.

“For now, but we’re interviewing for a real CFO.”

“That’s great news. You were never excited about finance.”

“True, and thankfully, we’ve always had accountants. I don’t know how excited I am about this either, though.”

She blows right past that. “Any news about Justin?”

A sigh escapes me, and I rub at the tension knotting my temples. “Still missing. No leads. It’s like he vanished into thin air.”

Silence hangs on the line. I’m worried for my friend, and Teagan’s worried about me.

“It’s been over a year since he disappeared,” Teagan says. “I can’t imagine why he would just up and leave. It doesn’t make sense.”

“I know. We’re all a mess, Crystal the worst. He was her rudder. But she’s back with the company, heading up our marketing department after going to school for a while. Hopefully, that will keep her busy, so she can better navigate all of this.”

“She’s lucky she has you guys. I can’t imagine what she must be going through,” Teagan says. “You’ve got this, Rhys. You always do.”

“I’m glad someone thinks so. I’m overwhelmed right now,” I say. “How are the girls doing?” My nieces, Lila and Maddie, are in elementary school and miniature versions of their mother.

“They’re great.” Teagan’s voice sparkles with maternal pride. “Lila just got into the advanced reading group at school, and Maddie’s art project was selected for the district showcase.”

“Wow, that’s great.” I smile, picturing my nieces with their big grins and bright eyes. “Tell them Uncle Rhys is super proud.”

“Will do!” There’s a clatter on her end, the sounds of a domestic life I’m far removed from. Then she lowers her voice a notch. “And Mom’s doing well too. She joined a gardening club. Can you believe it?”

“Really?” I stand, balancing the phone against my cheek as I work my running shoe onto my foot. “That’s…good for her.”

“Yeah,” Teagan says, and I hear the unspoken words hanging in the air. Mom and I don’t talk often. “She’s keeping busy.”

“Good to hear,” I mumble. I clear my throat, searching for something more to say but come up short. Teagan doesn’t press further, and I’m relieved.

“Rhys?” Her voice pulls me back.

“Yeah?”

“Take care of yourself, okay? Don’t let the job consume you. You need to meet a nice girl and maybe settle down.”

“Thanks. I’ll add that to my growing list of things to do.”

I’m not really the settle-down kind of guy. Particularly, not right now.

“We’d love to see you this summer. Maybe you could come for a visit?” Teagan’s voice carries that mix of hope and expectation, the kind family specializes in. “The girls would love to see their uncle, and it’s been ages since you’ve been home.”

“Sure. That sounds like fun,” I lie smoothly. The thought of returning to Kansas City stirs nothing in me but vague unease. “Work’s just… It’s a lot right now. I don’t know what this new role is going to mean.”

“Understandable,” she says. “Just don’t forget we love you and worry about you.”

“I love you guys, too,” I reply. We exchange a few more pleasantries before I end the call with tepid assurances of future visits. “I’ll call soon.”

I set the phone down and push myself off the bed, my body still heavy with reluctance, but wearing the right clothing now.

Downstairs, the morning air greets me with its salty tang as I step out onto the boardwalk, the rhythmic sounds of the water slopping against the boats in the Marina and the seagulls’ low caw-caw-caw sound a backdrop to my thoughts.

My pace quickens as I pass other joggers and early risers, lost in their own worlds. As I near the Inn Above Tide, the image of that woman—wild-eyed and breathtaking—flashes through my mind. The runaway bride. I should’ve asked for her name. Instead, I’m left with the memory of her tattoo, her laughter, and the way her eyes sparkled with mischief and freedom.

She’s probably long gone by now. It doesn’t matter. She’s out of reach either way. But that doesn’t stop the idle wonder, the what-ifs that dance at the edge of my thoughts.

Again, I pick up the pace. Eventually, the run clears my head, even if it can’t entirely erase my curiosity about a woman whose path crossed mine for only the briefest of moments. I think I’d prefer to consider her than what awaits me at the office.

Panting from the exertion, when I’ve finished my route, I unlock the front door and step back into the cool quiet of my house. The digital clock on the microwave blinks an accusatory 6:52 a.m., and as I swipe sweat from my brow, my phone lights up with a barrage of notifications. Missed calls stack one after the other, a cascade of urgency that seems disproportionate to the early hour.

“Great,” I mutter, thumbing through the list. Business partners, board members… I exhale slowly, bracing myself for the wave of demands I’m about to ride.

I hit play on the first voice mail, collapsing onto the couch with a large glass of water. It’s Wade Williams, one of the board members, his voice infused with false cheer as he rattles off a list of what he considers top priorities.

“Rhys, just a reminder that we’re counting on your vision to lead us forward,” he concludes, and I scoff at the irony of his words. They don’t want vision; they want compliance. He’s a well-paid advisor. He doesn’t have any skin in this game.

The next few messages are more of the same, each one layering additional weight on my shoulders. But it’s Crystal’s message that snags my full attention. Her tone is light, too light, betraying the tension beneath.

We’ve never really gotten along. But it wasn’t until Justin left that I realized my anger with her was misplaced. I should have been upset with him. He invited her along to San Francisco when we moved out here without consulting us. Then she lived with us in a two-bedroom apartment. It was only supposed to be until she found a job, but she ended up working for us. She was with us all the time. She was our Yoko Ono, and we blamed her and not him in those early EnergiFusion days.

“Let’s find some time to chat, shall we?” Crystal says in the recording. “My calendar is open to accommodate yours.”

The underlying steel in her voice doesn’t go unnoticed. She’s pissed—pissed that she’s not sitting in the CEO chair and pissed at me for occupying it, even if only temporarily, until her husband, my best friend, returns.

What is this really about? I wonder if her drive to control the company is about keeping Justin’s presence alive in some way. She’s never been one to show her grief, so maybe this is how she copes, by refusing to let go of the reins he once held.

Message after message fills the room, voices blending into a cacophony of expectations until finally, Theo’s familiar baritone cuts through the noise.

“Hey, how about lunch today with Austin and me? We thought we could celebrate your new post but also figure out how to be a united front moving forward.” His idea is very welcome, a break from the onslaught of formalities and thinly veiled demands. CEO is a job we all planned to share. We just didn’t expect it to turn out this way.

I rub a hand over my face, feeling the stubble and the lingering trace of salt from my run. Lunch with Theo and Austin is exactly what I need, a moment with my friends rather than people who want something from me. I reach for my phone to confirm, then pause, realizing this is just the beginning. The real marathon starts now.

The final voicemail begins, and Austin’s steady voice grounds me. He doesn’t mince words, doesn’t add to the pile of expectations. “Rhys, I’m guessing your inbox is a minefield right now. This is your wheelhouse. Steer it your way.”

I take a deep breath and let it out.

“Keep that phone off until you’re with Scott, driving into the office,” he advises. “And let Mackenzie handle the fort. She’s got it under control.”

Mackenzie Davis is the admin to the CEO, and we’re kidding ourselves if we think any of us runs the place. She keeps us all in line and makes sure shit gets done.

I exhale again slowly, a laugh trapped at the edge of my breath.

“And hey,” Austin adds, almost as an afterthought, “I may be heading out of town, but I’ll have my cell phone with me. Did you get Theo’s message? I hope we can talk at lunch.”

The voicemail ends, and I stand, muscles protesting the abrupt shift from stillness to motion, my mind reeling as I process everything I’ve just taken in.

After a quick shower, I dress in khakis, a merino wool sweater with a white T-shirt, and my Chelsea boots. And then it’s showtime. I stride through the house and out the front door. There stands Scott Wilson, my driver and bodyguard. He’s leaning against the sleek black Escalade. Nothing ruffles Scott. I suppose that’s why he’s in the protection game.

“Morning,” he says with a nod.

“Scott,” I acknowledge, sliding into the passenger seat. As we pull away from the curb, the familiar landscape of the Marina blurs past as we drive through San Francisco toward the airport and South San Francisco. EnergiFusion’s offices sit where Candlestick Park once stood.

My phone, now silenced, sits heavy in my pocket. I resist the urge to check it, focusing instead on the City awakening around us. I lean my head back, eyes closing for a moment. The weight of the interim CEO title presses down, but Austin’s words are a counterbalance. Do what feels right. I’m not alone in this, never have been.

“Big day ahead?” Scott’s voice cuts through my musings.

“They named me interim CEO on Saturday,” I say, dread lacing my voice.

“Jim mentioned it. You’ve got this,” he says. “You guys can figure out if you’ll need more round-the-clock security.”

I glance up at him. I hadn’t thought of that. Did Austin have security all day, every day? But having Jim on top of what I need steadies my heartbeat. With allies like Jim, Mason, Scott, Austin, and Theo—perhaps even Crystal, in her own way—I am reminded that leadership is a collective, a balance of give and take.

Forty minutes later, the glass doors of the elevators glide open on the executive floor, and Mackenzie Davis is already on her feet, poised with that mix of efficiency and warmth that somehow makes this steel-and-glass fortress feel like a place where actual human business happens.

She beams at me. “Congratulations, Rhys,” she says as I cross the polished floor to where she stands. “I heard the news. Just so you know, I’m here for you—unless you want someone else in this chair.”

I return her smile. “Mackenzie, you’re the engine that keeps this place running. I’d be lost without you.” It’s the truth, and based on the focused glint in her eye, she is well aware.

She nods, satisfied, and flips open her tablet to reveal my schedule. “You’ve got a packed day.”

As she scrolls through a seemingly endless list of appointments and meetings, my chest tightens. “Is there even time to breathe in there?” The question slips out before I can catch it.

“Breathing is optional, and bathroom breaks are negotiable.” Her tone is light, but her fingers hover over the screen, ready to bend time to my will. “Just give me the signal, and I’ll hold them off.”

There’s an unexpected lump in my throat as memories of casually strolling into Austin and Justin’s offices flood back. Now, I realize every one of those minutes translated into extra hours they had to stay. I never realized the cost of those impromptu interruptions.

Stunned barely covers what I’m feeling.

“First up, you have the PR company,” Mackenzie continues when I offer her no signal, snapping me back to reality. “Then Emerson Healy from SHN is eager to discuss a CFO candidate with you.”

“Right.” I muster all the focus I can, bracing myself for the gauntlet ahead.

My morning becomes a swirl of handshakes and head nods. Every fifteen minutes brings another department head with his or her own set of challenges and achievements. Between these rapid-fire sessions, I find myself scribbling notes and promising to circle back, to delve deeper. Not sure how I’m going to get it all done.

Then the focus shifts, and Stan Richards, CEO of Maloney Chemical, fills the room with his presence and the agenda with his ambition. “We can continue this over dinner,” I suggest after we conclude an hour of intense discussion about the sodium-ion they provide for us.

“Thanks for the offer, but I already have plans,” he says.

“Next time you’re in town,” I suggest.

As he leaves, I feel the weight of the day settling in again, each meeting embedding itself like a stone in my pocket. But with Mackenzie orchestrating the chaos, I’m starting to believe I might just keep my head above water.

The sun is high in the sky by the time Austin and Theo flank me, nudging me out of the office for lunch. My head is still buzzing from the carousel of meetings when the cool air outside hits my face.

“Come on,” Austin says. “The work will be there when you return.”

“Yes, and the fresh air will do you good,” Theo says, clapping me on the back with a brotherly force. “We’re meeting Jim and Mason at Waterbar.”

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“I think they have an update,” Austin says.

Scott drives us to the restaurant, and we’re shown to the private room where Jim Adelson and Mason Sullivan are already waiting. The scent of grilled seafood and spices wafts toward us as we approach, and my stomach reminds me it’s been hours since breakfast.

“Is Crystal coming?” I ask, partly hopeful for her perspective, partly dreading another round of corporate politics.

“No,” Mason answers, his voice flat. “We don’t want to get her hopes up about anything prematurely.”

My pulse races. Does this mean what I think it does?

We settle into our seats at a table already cluttered with bread and glasses of water.

Jim doesn’t waste any time. He sets a sleek, black digital recorder in the center of the table. “Justin was spotted in Cuba,” he announces, leaning forward as if to pull us in with him. “Beachfront home, rented under one of his aliases. We missed him by days.”

He presses play, and a wave of ambient noise spills out before a familiar voice cuts through. It’s distant, slightly distorted, but does sound like Justin.

“I’m looking for a quiet place out of the way,” he says. “Something to get me off the grid so I can relax and take a break.”

“I think this is your place,” a female voice says.

Jim presses the recorder to stop it.

“Are we sure that’s his voice?” I ask. This could be the break we’ve been hoping for or another false start.

“Pretty confident,” Jim responds, locking eyes with me. “But I’ll have my tech team verify it as best they can. We can’t afford any mistakes.”

His assurance does little to ease the tightness in my chest. Certainty is a luxury we haven’t had for a while now. I press my thumb to the edge of the table and take a deep breath to relax. “Let’s hope they’re right,” I murmur. We need this lead to be real. We need to find Justin and bring him home.

The waiter appears and we order, and then the conversation turns to other matters, but the echo of that recorded voice plays on a loop in my mind.

A little while later, I spear a piece of arugula with my fork, the tangy balsamic dressing mingling with savory salmon. I chew slowly, letting the flavors settle as I turn over Jim’s words in my mind.

“How long was Justin in Cuba?” Austin asks suddenly.

It seems I’m not the only one still thinking about that recording.

“About five weeks,” Jim replies.

“Jim,” Theo begins, his brow furrowed, “if we just missed him again, how is that good news?”

Jim leans back. “Because now we know he’s using aliases and staying places longer than before. It gives us a pattern. He can’t stay hidden forever, not with every ally we have globally on the lookout.”

The confidence in Jim’s voice is reassuring, and I nod along, understanding his point. Justin was always a master at the long game. But now, it seems, we’re closing in on his elusive shadow.

“Actually, on that note—” Mason interjects. He sets down his utensils, wiping his mouth with the napkin. “Crystal came to see me. She’s getting impatient. It’s been over a year since Justin disappeared.”

I nod. We ignored the milestone. It’s still too raw.

He pauses to sip his water. “She wants control of Justin’s shares. I had to remind her that unless he’s given her power of attorney, Justin needs to be gone for five years before any transfer of control can happen.”

“Five years…” I muse. That’s a long time. Crystal’s urgency isn’t surprising; she’s always been one for swift action. Yet there’s something unsettling about capitalizing on our friend’s absence. But he’s her husband, and I’m sure that puts her world in limbo. I stab at another piece of salmon, but my appetite has waned. “And that affects us too because it puts limits on us without him here to vote if something happens.”

There’s a collective murmur of agreement around the table. I’m sure the thought of waiting another four years doesn’t sit well with anyone. We all hope Justin will reappear, rendering this discussion moot. But hope is a tricky thing, fragile and fickle, and lately, in short supply.

My mind circles back to Crystal’s ambitions and the void Justin’s absence has carved into our company. What is she seeing that we’re not? What does she believe needs to change? The questions gnaw at me, demanding attention. No one has bothered to ask her directly, and it’s clear I need to bridge that gap.

There’s a strategy here, a way to understand her perspective. It might not be just about control or shares. What if it’s about vision, direction? I need to hear from her.

Lunch wraps up, but Theo and Austin are locked in a focused exchange, their heads bowed close together. They’re dissecting scenarios, possibilities for the company’s future. But without input from Justin, I feel like we’re navigating blind.

I slide my phone from my pocket, thumb hovering over the screen. A dinner invitation is too formal, too much like a power play. But drinks are casual, a space where guards can drop and words can flow more freely. I send a text to Crystal.

Me: Meet for drinks tonight? Maybe around 9 p.m.?

Her response comes quick, a brief buzz in my hand.

Crystal: Sure. I have dinner plans, but drinks sound good. How about something in the Marina?

A name surfaces unbidden.

Me: The Inn Above Tide’s bar?

Why there? I can’t say. Perhaps it’s the view, the ambiance, or maybe it’s the thin thread of hope that the runaway bride might reappear.

Crystal: See you then.

I pocket my phone, a smile tugging at my lips. She has to be long gone, the woman who fled her own wedding, a stranger with no name but an unforgettable presence. Yet some part of me can’t stop wondering about her.

It’s foolish, I know. Life isn’t a series of serendipitous encounters, especially not for someone caught in the relentless undertow of a career like mine. But I let myself dream that fate has a sense of irony, a penchant for bringing people back into your orbit when you least expect it. That would be helpful on a number of fronts right now.