cannibal; kendall roy

26

When Louis Garnier had passed away, there had been no question as to who the inheritor to both his massive company and estate would be. Of course, it was his daughter. It was always going to be Marguerite Garnier. There were no siblings, no cousins, no uncles.
Nothing. She'd been an only child, just like her father, and his father and so on. It wasn't bad luck. The family wasn't cursed, like the old wives tales said—They just stopped after one.

They didn't like theatrics or drama, they weren't looking for fights. They just decided on one child, and that one child would be their heir. That was all. It was the Garnier principle. Unless, an heir died. Then it would appropriate to have another. And there were even rumors, old rumors, that if they'd had girls, they'd be tossed out in the streets, or strangled.

Rumors, of course.

Well—except they weren't. There were records, and some knew, but plenty didn't care. Just as how the family had never accounted for how some of their heirs may have no interest in their company. Which had been the case with Louis Garnier VI, Marguerite's own father, who had been entirely too interested in the arts in his formative years, and had ultimately led to his demise. Well, that wasn't entirely why. But it certainly felt like it was part of it.

But anyways, in the aftermath of his death, Marguerite Garnier had no interest in running her father's company, seeing that it had done to him, after reading his diaries and personally, wanting nothing to do with the damn thing. Considering how she had her own cushioned and plump job, she did what any normal, coked up individual would do, and hired the first person she could find.

In fact, the very first person she found, or laid her eyes on. Someone who was so particularly incompetent and low level, that they'd never understand anything, and fortunately for her, sink the company so she'd never have to deal with it ever again. This gift, had come to her in the form of her former mail carrier and delivery boy, a man by the name of Drummer King.

Drummer King had been delivering a package of folders and upcoming assignments and editorials to Marguerite, when she'd been on the phone with her father's CFO—practically yelling her ear off about how she didn't want to come in, or deal with any of it. Which, was fair.

The man had just died, and she was instead fussing over magazines. This had also been in the early days of his death. Not when she'd yet fallen back into her old habits, consisting of drugs, but rather when she'd slept back into alcohol, drinking her eyes out and purchasing bottles at the dozen, burning holes in her pockets, even though she now owned a wine cellar.

Part of her inheritance. Lucky her.

And so, she picked Drummer King.

Knowing he was incompetent and nobody could question it, yes. She picked Drummer King. And the backlash had been large, but by then, it didn't matter to her. She was able to sit back and grieve, or do her version of grieving, while Drummer King collected a few checks.

It was, a widely hated decision, and had caused some major tanking in the stock price for the company, but ultimately they had bounced back, when it became clear that Garnier was not set on letting Drummer King, actually run their company.

The only thing he really, had any actual say in, was voting on Waystar Royco's board, something he had actually enjoyed doing, because he liked all the shouting he got to hear through the phone calls.

But, unfortunately for Drummer King. They weren't fans of him either.

And in the few months that Drummer King had been instated by Marguerite Garnier, she had received so many emails, complaints and calls, that she had changed her number about four times and blocked certain emails.

It had been a busy Thursday morning, when she'd stumbled upon the mostly sober idea of stepping up, and firing Drummer King, or rather replacing him. After all, not being in the company had more to do with the fact that she believed it would make her father proud. But maybe fucking it properly—maybe tanking it—that would make it all better.

It would be odd—since she'd brought the man inside to bring the company to its knees. Drummer King was supposed to be her revenge, and her way of avoiding the thing that had so strongly killed her father. And now, she was chasing it. Or debating chasing it.

"Kendall?" She'd begun to ask as she brought him one of her coffee mugs, while he continued to scrawl through paperwork "What do you think of Drummer King?"

He looked up "Who?"

"The man I've had voting in my place, running Garnier and all—"

"He's terrible." He says point blank "Get rid of him."

She takes a sip of her own coffee, something she's sabotaged with a little bit of tequila and shrugs "Do you think I'd be capable of stepping up? You know, finally taking over and all?"

The doubt Sandy had given her—it still sat slightly fondly in her head.

Kendall found himself grinning a little bit "Fuck yeah, I think you'd be more than capable. I mean uh—what? You were the Editor in Chief for a top publication for over five years, you went to fucking business school. I think you'd be qualified. Besides" he walks over to her and plants a kiss to her forehead "You've got me. I've done the job before, and I'm planning to do it now."

"You don't think I'd fuck it into the ground?" She asks unsurely

"Can't do any worse than Drummer King." He says chuckling, looking down at his work once more

"Hey. Tell me, how is that going?" She asks, leaning against the table, motioning to his papers "Good?"

"Shit. Uh, fine I think. I don't really know. I'm nervous for it, but I think it'll work. You know? Stewy really believes in it. I do."

"Good, that's good." Marguerite says, carefully not burning her mouth as she drank more of her coffee

"You got a little something in there?" Kendall questions curiously

"You want some?" She asks

"Just a little bit."

So, she pulls out her bottle and pours some into his cup, watching him pick it up and take a sip instantly. "You're beautiful Lou. Absolutely stunning." He then places the mug back down on the table, missing the coaster she'd laid out for him "Damn."

They were currently encroaching upon the date for Tom and Shiv's wedding, slowly weaseling their way upon it, and yet the topic had barely come up between the two.

But, it wasn't like the two to discuss anything of the sort up until the very, last minute.

Author's Note:

This chapter is specifically short because the next one, Pre-Nuptial, fully based off of the episode from Succession is 10,000 words! And the following chapter, Nobody is Ever Missing, will also be of a similar length. Enjoy!