THE ASSISTANT'S INHERITANCE

The whisper of medical equipment was the only sound in the dimly lit penthouse bedroom. Harper Knox sat perfectly still in the armchair beside the massive four-poster bed, her spine straight despite the exhaustion that weighed on her shoulders. She'd learned long ago that posture was armor-and tonight, she needed every bit of protection she could muster.

James St. James Sr. lay beneath Egyptian cotton sheets, his once-imposing frame now diminished by months of illness. The cancer had hollowed his cheeks and dulled the fierce intelligence in his eyes, but it hadn't touched the iron will that had built James Industries into a Manhattan powerhouse.

"Harper." His voice was barely audible, yet it still carried the authority that could silence a boardroom. "What time is it?"

She checked her watch-a Cartier, his gift on her fourth work anniversary. "Just past nine, James."

He made a sound that might have been a laugh. "Still following the rules. It's after hours. You could call me Jim now."

"I would never," she replied with the hint of a smile. This was their routine, comfortable even now.

The old man's eyes drifted to the window, where Manhattan's lights glittered against the night sky. "He hasn't called back."

Harper's chest tightened. They both knew who "he" was. Jamie St. James Jr., the prodigal son who hadn't spoken to his father in nearly three years.

"I left another message," she said, keeping her voice neutral. "I was very clear about the urgency."

James Sr. closed his eyes. "He thinks he has all the time in the world. That's youth for you."

Harper remained silent. She'd never met the younger St. James, though she'd handled enough of the fallout from their estrangement to form an opinion. An opinion she kept strictly to herself.

"I need to ask you something," James Sr. said, his breathing labored. "Something I have no right to ask."

"Anything," she answered without hesitation.

He turned his head to study her. "Five years you've been with me. The finest executive assistant I've ever had. No-" He waved away her practiced modesty. "Don't argue. We both know it's true. You've been more than that. You've been..." He trailed off, uncomfortable with sentiment even now.

"I know," she said softly. She did know. In the absence of family-his wife living separately for years, his son estranged-she had become something else to him. Not a daughter, exactly, but perhaps the closest thing to family he would allow himself.

"I need you to try again," he said. "Call Jamie. Not as my assistant. As..." He struggled for the word.

"As someone who cares about you," she finished.

He nodded, relief crossing his gaunt features. "Tell him whatever you need to. Make him understand that time is..." He didn't complete the sentence. He didn't need to.

Harper swallowed hard. "I'll call him now."

She rose, smoothing her charcoal pencil skirt out of habit rather than necessity. In the adjoining study-a room where she'd spent countless hours reviewing contracts, preparing briefings, and occasionally sharing a rare glass of scotch with her boss-she closed the door and pulled out her phone.

The number for Jamie St. James Jr. was saved in her contacts, though she'd never dialed it before. Her thumb hovered over the screen. This wasn't a business call. This was crossing a line she'd carefully maintained for five years.

She pressed the call button.

The phone rang four times before he answered, his voice curt. "This is Jamie St. James."

"Mr. St. James, this is Harper Knox." She kept her voice measured, professional. "I'm-"

"My father's assistant." He cut her off. "I know who you are, Ms. Knox. This is the third call today."

The dismissal in his tone raised her hackles, but she pushed the feeling aside. This wasn't about her.

"Your father's condition has deteriorated significantly in the last twenty-four hours," she said. "The doctors believe-"

"I'm well aware of his condition," he interrupted again. "He has the best medical care money can buy, I'm sure."

Harper took a deep breath. "Mr. St. James-Jamie-I'm not calling as your father's executive assistant right now. I'm calling as someone who cares about him." The words felt strange in her mouth, too personal, too real.

The silence on the other end stretched.

"He's asking for you," she continued. "Whatever happened between you-"

"Is none of your business," he finished, his voice sharp. "With all due respect, Ms. Knox, you don't know anything about my relationship with my father."

"I know he's dying," she said, the words falling like stones. "And I know he wants to see his son before that happens."

Another silence, longer this time. When he spoke again, his voice had lost some of its edge.

"I'm in Tokyo. The earliest I could get there is the day after tomorrow."

Hope flickered. "That would be-"

"But I'm not coming," he said, the finality in his tone crushing her optimism. "Tell him I received his messages. Tell him whatever you want. But I buried my relationship with him a long time ago, and I don't see the point in pretending otherwise now."

Harper closed her eyes, anger burning beneath her professional veneer. "This isn't about what happened before. This is about-"

"It's always about what happened before," he interrupted. "My father taught me that. Actions have consequences. His taught him to die alone." His voice had gone cold again. "Goodbye, Ms. Knox."

The call ended.

Harper stood motionless in the study, the phone still pressed to her ear. The bitterness in Jamie's voice had been palpable, but beneath it, she'd heard something else. Pain, old and festering.

She didn't know what had happened between father and son. James Sr. never spoke of it, and she never asked. But in that moment, she hated Jamie St. James Jr. for his stubborn pride, for denying his father-and himself-whatever peace might come from reconciliation.

Taking a moment to compose herself, Harper returned to the bedroom. James Sr. was watching the door, hope written plainly across his face.

"He's in Tokyo," she said, unable to deliver the full brutal truth. "He said he'd try to arrange things."

The hope dimmed but didn't extinguish completely. James Sr. nodded slowly. "Thank you for trying."

She resumed her seat beside him, taking his frail hand in hers. His fingers, once strong enough to crush boardroom opponents with a handshake, felt like paper in her grip.

"I need one more promise from you," he said after a while.

"Anything," she repeated, meaning it.

"When I'm gone, Jamie will come back. He'll have to, for the will reading if nothing else." His eyes held hers, suddenly intense. "He'll need someone to help him understand the company. Someone I trust."

Harper felt her throat tighten. "James, I-"

"Promise me you'll give him a chance," he said. "He's not the monster you think he is. And he's not the man I raised him to be. Not yet. But he could be, with the right guidance."

"I have given my notice," she reminded him gently. They both knew she'd been planning her exit for months, her dream of returning to architecture finally within reach. The resignation letter was drafted, waiting only for the courage to submit it.

"I know." He squeezed her hand with what little strength he had left. "But promise me you'll at least try. For me."

How could she refuse him anything now? "I promise," she said, the words a weight settling across her shoulders.

He closed his eyes, satisfied. "You're the only one I trust to tell him the truth. About everything."

Harper didn't ask what "everything" encompassed. She suspected she'd find out soon enough.

They sat in companionable silence as the night deepened. The city lights cast long shadows across the room, and the medical equipment continued its quiet vigil. Harper kept watch as James Sr. drifted into sleep, his breathing shallow but steady.

She thought about Jamie St. James Jr., the man who wouldn't come to his father's deathbed. The man she would soon have to face across a conference table. The man she had promised to help, despite every instinct telling her to walk away.

In a few days, perhaps less, James St. James Sr. would be gone. And Harper would face the hardest challenge of her professional life-keeping a promise she already regretted making.

Outside, Manhattan continued its relentless pace, indifferent to the small drama playing out in the penthouse above. Harper Knox straightened her spine once more, armoring herself against what was to come.