King of Sloth (Kings of Sin #4) by Ana Huang

Saturday marked my last gasp of breath before the tsunami of press and paperwork descended.

The next few days blew by in a whirlwind of funeral arrangements (extravagant), media requests (incessant but unanswered save for the press statement Sloane had crafted), and legalese (complicated and headache-inducing).

My father had left meticulous directions for his funeral, so all we had to do was execute them.

His will was an entirely different matter.

The Tuesday after his passing, I gathered in the library along with my family, Eduardo, Sloane, and Santos, our estate lawyer.

The reading of the will started off as expected.

Tía Lupe received the vacation house in Uruguay, Tío Esteban received my father’s rare car collection, so on and so forth.

Then it got to me, and apparently, my father had made a lastminute change to the terms of my inheritance.

Murmurs rippled through the room at the news, and I straightened when Santos started reading the conditions.

“To my son Xavier, I bequeath all remaining fixed and liquid assets, totaling seven point nine billion dollars, provided he assumes the chief executive officer position before the day of his thirtieth birthday and serves the role for a minimum of five consecutive years thereafter. The company must turn a profit in each of those five years, and he must fulfill the chief executive officer position to the best of his abilities as determined by a preselected committee every six months, starting from his official first day as CEO. Should he not meet the above terms, all remaining fixed and liquid assets shall be distributed to charity according to the terms below.”

The room erupted before Santos read the next paragraph. “All assets to charity?” Tía Lupe screeched. “I’m his sister, and I get a measly vacation home while charity gets eight billion dollars?”

“You must’ve read that wrong. There’s no way Alberto would do that…”

“Xavier as CEO? Does he want to run the company into the ground?”

“This is outrageous! I’m calling my own lawyers…”

Spanish shouts and curses ricocheted off the walls like bullets as my family devolved into chaos.

Throughout it all, Eduardo, Sloane, and I were the only ones who didn’t utter a word. They sat on either side of me, Eduardo’s face pensive, Sloane’s impassive. Across the room, Santos maintained a neutral expression as he waited for the indignation to die down.

The first line of my inheritance clause rang in my head.



I bequeath all remaining fixed and liquid assets, totaling seven point nine billion dollars, provided he assumes the chief executive officer position…before the day of his thirtieth birthday.



My thirtieth birthday was in six months. Of course, my father knew that; trust the bastard to force my hand even in death.

The shouting matches around me retreated before an onslaught of memories.

My last conversation with him. The pocket watch. The letter.



The drum of my heartbeats chased away the silence as I stared at my mother’s familiar handwriting. She’d loved calligraphy and insisted I learn cursive, even though no one used it much anymore.

I used to sit next to her as she hand wrote thank-you cards and birthday greetings and get-well-soon wishes, tracing the loops and swirls on my own piece of paper.

Some people found her handwriting difficult to read, but I parsed it easily.



Dear Xavier,



I met you for the first time yesterday.

I’d imagined the moment many times, but no amount of imagination could’ve prepared me for holding you in my arms. For seeing you stare up at me, then falling asleep together because we’re both exhausted, and hearing you laugh as you grabbed my fingers on our way out of the hospital.

You’re only two days old at the time of this writing, so tiny I can almost fit you into the palm of my hand. But a parent’s best gift is watching their child grow up, and I can’t wait for the journey ahead.

I can’t wait to see you off to your first day of school. I’ll probably (definitely) cry, but they’ll be happy tears because you’ll be starting a new chapter of your life.

I can’t wait to teach you how to swim and ride a bike, to give you advice about girls, and to see you fall in love for the first time.

I can’t wait to watch you discover your passions, whether it’s music, sports, business, or anything else you want to do. (Don’t tell your father, but I’m rooting for art.) However, I’ll be happy with anything you choose, and I mean that from the bottom of my heart. The world is big enough for all of our dreams.

There’s potential in each and every one of us, and I hope you fulfill yours to the point of happiness.

Your father says I’m getting ahead of myself because you’re so young, but by the time you read this, you’ll have turned twenty-one. Old enough to attend college, drive a car, and travel on your own. My heart hurts just thinking about it, not because I’m sad, but because I’m so excited for you to experience my favorite parts of the world and to find your own. (And if you can’t decide where to go, choose a spot close to the beach. Trust me. The water heals us in ways we can’t comprehend.)

I can’t say for certain what the future will hold, but at the risk of sounding like a cheesy motivational poster, know this: life ebbs and flows, and there’s always room for change. Humans have the capacity for growth until they leave this earth, so never feel like it’s too late for you to take another road if you’re unhappy with the one you’re traveling.