The Gatekeeper's Son Read Free

grinned. “I know, but these sausages are so damn good.”
    “Yes, they are,” Mr. Sugimoto said in accented English from across the table. “Would you pass them here, Junya?”
    “Why’d you call him Junya?” Mark said.
    Grandpa answered before anyone else had a chance.
    “His real name is James Edward Thompson.” He looked so proud. “His father named him after me.”
    I always suspected that Dad had slapped the name on me with about as much thought as a store clerk putting a price tag on a can of tuna. Just something to keep Grandpa happy, I suppose.
    “ I named him Junya.” Okaasan’s voice was low but strong. “It means ‘the pure one.’” Then she looked up, perhaps becoming aware of the sudden silence. “And he’ll stay that way if I can keep the young ladies away.”
    Someone chuckled, and then others joined in, a release of tension. I blushed again, my eyes still on the table. Okaasan had never called me James—like anything she disagreed with, she made her own way around it.
    If anyone had bothered to ask me, I’d have said I preferred Junya. The older I got, the less comfortable I was with my borrowed name. It felt like a hand-me-down.

    Grandpa started clinking a spoon against his coffee cup. I groaned as a man in a baker’s hat carried in a huge cake, complete with the requisite sixteen candles.
    “Make a wish, James,” Grandpa said as he leaned back and loosened his tie. As if that were her cue, Ms. Lin walked around from her end of the table and placed a small wrapped package beside me.
    I tried to smile. Maybe it was just this whole over-the-top party, but something about the gift felt … formal.
    “James,” Grandpa began as he watched Ms. Lin walk back to her seat. “When your father returned to San Francisco, bringing you and his beautiful wife, Misako, I promised I’d do things different with you.”
    I glanced at my dad. He was staring at the table.
    “I’ve tried to teach you what I think is important about life, and about my business, and you’ve learned well.” Grandpa addressed the room. “Are you all aware of his bookstore project?”
    There were a few grunts.
    “I’m not,” my dad said.
    “James found the classic undervalued property, an old building in a good neighborhood. Of course, I wanted to bulldoze the place, but he insisted on a heritage renovation. James led the project and it was a success.” He chuckled. “I expected it to fail—which would’ve been a good lesson.” Before I had a chance to process the insult, he continued. “Do you know how much profit you’ve earned?”
    The question surprised me. I’d had fun working on the design and even hoped to impress him, but I never even considered the money it might make.
    He hit the table so hard the cutlery rattled. “You’ve made one hundred and ten thousand dollars so far.”
    There was a whistle from the other end of the table.
    Okaasan cleared her throat. “Edward—”
    “Chairman.” Walter Roacks glanced at me, then at Grandpa. “Given our situation, shouldn’t this profit stay within the company?”
    Grandpa glared at Walter. “This was a private project. I’ve taken my cut, the rest belongs to James.” He paused for a moment and then turned toward Okaasan. “This money’s not for video games or fast cars, Misako. This is for the future. Money is a seed—it must be planted to grow.” Then Grandpa cleared his throat and stood up.
    “I’m sure you’ve expected this, James, but I’m making it official.”
    I gave him a blank stare.
    “Today, I’m officially naming you as my heir, the future chairman and sole shareholder of the Thompson Group of Companies.”
    I gaped up at him as murmurs rose. I stole a glance around the table—eight faces smiling, some of the smiles real, some forced. Only Walter Roacks looked surprised.
    Suddenly I had trouble breathing.
    “I … I’m still in school,” I said. “I need to help my dad … I’m not ready, I don’t—”
    “You are