"No girlfriends!" the Duke said sternly. "Have you forgotten again that we have to attend the annual royal charity reception today?"
"Sorry, Father, I forgot. Is the reception soon?"
"No, we need to arrive there by four o'clock in the afternoon. Now sit down to breakfast, we'll talk later."
Breakfast passed in complete silence. The only sound was the clink of cutlery. Richie quickly cleared the plates and waited impatiently for Gerald to finish. And then that moment arrived. The Duke set his cutlery aside, carefully dabbed his mouth with a napkin, and looked at his son, then said:
- Richie, let's go to the living room.
Richard shot up from the table and dashed into the living room. Gerald followed his son with a leisurely gait and a straight back.
Father and son sat in comfortable fabric-upholstered armchairs facing each other near the fireplace, separated only by a round mahogany coffee table.
"So what did you want to find out, son?" asked Rich Sr.
"Dad, tell me about our business and the order of succession. The tutor confused me. He said the Rich fortune will be inherited by many people, including Grandfather Karl's brothers and sisters."
"Hm..." the man drawled thoughtfully. "No. So you understand, my father, your grandfather, did the following. He created several trusts and divided the Rich fortune in half. One half went into the Rich Group, which went to the primary heir, me. The rest was divided into four parts, based on the number of surviving children, your aunts and uncles. All the Richs, starting with the first Duke of Westminster, distributed their property in a similar manner. Not a single child, barring the black sheep, was left behind.
Richie really wanted to ask who the bad apples were and whether he would fall into that category, but he still held back from asking the inappropriate question.
"I see," Richie said. "So you'll do the same? Divide the fortune in two. One half goes to the two sisters, and the other to me?"
"You're thinking about inheritance too early, Richie," Gerald chuckled. "You're thinking wrong-half the fortune will go to your three sisters."
- I have three sisters?!
The boy's eyes widened at this news. Until recently, they'd only been talking about two sisters.
"Yes," Gerald took a deep breath, as if about to dive into water. "I was a hooligan in my youth. In my last year at boarding school, I behaved badly and neglected my studies. Of course-I'm a rich heir, a future duke! I can't let any servants dictate to me... As a result, I failed two exams."
The man closed his eyes, as if recalling the past. His lips and eyelids trembled. Looking at his son again, he continued:
"Dad got angry with me and sent me to military school. There, I was taught discipline. But I was still a rebel at heart. After school, I let loose to the fullest: alcohol, casinos, parties, free love. So, unplanned, Tamara was born to a political émigré poet from Russia with the beautiful name Natasha. I couldn't marry Natasha. At that time, marriages outside one's social circle were strongly frowned upon. Nowadays, a nobleman can marry for love. And even then, it's not a given that everyone will accept it. After the scandal my father caused, I acknowledged the bastard, gave my daughter my surname and allowance, and brought her into society. Tamara Rich is now forty years old. She is recognized as a Lady. Five years ago, Tamara became godmother to Prince William, the son of my friend Charlie and his charming wife, Diana.
At this point, the boy's eyes widened even more in astonishment. He asked in a dumbfounded tone:
- Dad, by Charlie's friend, do you mean Prince Charles?!
"Exactly. We're almost the same age," a warm smile lit up the Duke's dry lips. "Oh, I remember how Charlie and I used to party... Then we both got scolded by our parents."
"Wow!" was all Richie could say.
"Um..." Gerald hid his embarrassment with a fake cough. "So, that's what I was talking about? Oh, right! After finishing school, Tamara went on to study criminology at Northumbria University. She recently set up a charity and is currently in Nepal, helping innocent children get out of prison."
Richie had absolutely no idea what was going on in Nepal or why innocent children were imprisoned there. He couldn't even imagine where it was. But just in case, he decided not to show his ignorance.
The transmigrator was pleased to have shed light on the family succession. He wouldn't have to sponsor a horde of relatives. Half of the Rich fortune would go to Richie, which was a definite plus. The other question was how far off that would be. His father, while not looking young, was full of health and vigor. He could live to be ninety, maybe even a hundred. Prince Charles, for example, was an example-he'd been the Queen's heir for many years, God bless her. So what? Dependent on his parent's mercy all that time? Living on funds whose flow Gerald could regulate to control his son? No, something had to be done about it.
Richie came to the conclusion that he needed to earn his own capital. And he should start doing this as early as possible, preferably now.
But it's only in words that making a fortune is easy and simple. Even if you know the future, you need start-up capital to invest in successful ventures. And where to get the money? In this case, the only way is to ask your dad. It's unlikely that you'll be able to do something like that just like that. You need to present a sound argument, and to do that, you need to spend more time with an economics tutor.
Richie had a purpose. Before, he'd simply been settling into his new role, getting used to the idea of being alive, living in the past, and becoming a child. Now, he dreamed of the independence that only big money could provide. And not just any money, but personal wealth. Not the family fortune in the trust fund, managed by his father and the trustees, but the wealth of Richard Rich.
But this is all a goal for the future; a reception with the Queen of Great Britain is just around the corner.
- Dad, what are we going to do at the reception?
"Reception," Gerald drawled. "It's business as usual. I'll donate fifty thousand pounds to charity, maybe give a short speech, and pose for the cameras. And you'll accompany me for a bit, and then you can hang out with your peers."
- Will they be there?
Gerald thought for a moment.
"There must be," he said. "William will probably be there. Lord Finch-Fletchley, who is a member of my hunting club, has a son about your age, I believe. Yes, there will certainly be a lot of children. As usual, a table will be set for them in a separate room."