Too Rich To Care Anymore

There are eight kids in the Townsend family. The first seven are ruthless, high-octane corporate predators. And then there is me: a low-energy slacker whose greatest life ambition is staying horizontal. While my seven older sisters spend their days waging corporate warfare and grinding out record-breaking quarters, I refuse to sit if I can lie down. My daily routine consists almost entirely of sleeping until the afternoon and wrapping myself in a down duvet like a human burrito. My parents gave up on expecting me to generate revenue a long time ago. Instead, they gave me one solitary job: overseeing the annual holiday corporate gift program for our luxury shopping centers. Because I was far too lazy to audition new vendors, I kept ordering from my childhood friend, Clarissa, for ten consecutive years. Single-handedly, my sheer inertia turned her from a desperate boutique artisan into the celebrated chairwoman of the Regional Commerce Guild, the woman every executive tripped over themselves to toast. Until this year’s supplier expo. That was when her new male executive assistant threw a leather-bound ledger right into my lap. "Mr. Townsend," he sneered, "you’ve been latching onto Clarissa for ten years. Has she ever actually promised to be with you?" "Year after year, you demand a family-and-friends discount. Haven't you freeloaded enough?" With a theatrical flick of his wrist, he slapped down a formal invoice—a demand note for three million dollars. "This covers the revenue she lost cutting you deals all these years. Pay up." "She’s about to start a family of her own. Don’t expect her to keep taking a loss just to babysit a deadbeat like you." Then, right in front of the entire convention hall, he ripped our upcoming master contract in two. Clarissa stepped in front of him, shielding him with her body. She didn't even bother looking at me. "Stop using your orders to keep me tethered, Kit," she said, her voice cool and detached. "I can’t spend the rest of my life revolving around you." I stared at her for a beat, nodded once, and pulled out my phone. With two taps, I sent our three-hundred-million-dollar holiday procurement contract into the regional suppliers' group chat. In the very next second, the executives who had just been circling Clarissa with glasses of champagne turned on their heels and swarmed toward me. Leading the pack was the undisputed titan of the luxury wholesale industry—a man whose office Clarissa had visited three times without ever making it past the reception desk. He personally pulled up a plush armchair for me, his smile warmer and more deferential than anyone else’s in the room. "Mr. Townsend, please, have a seat. Take all the time you need." He opened his portfolio. "Any chance our company might finally earn your business this year?" … When I arrived at the annual procurement summit, Clarissa was already surrounded by a cluster of prominent business owners, basking in a flurry of toasts. She wore a sharply tailored ivory pantsuit, her dark hair pinned neatly behind her ears. She smiled with that practiced, gentle poise of hers, yet nobody in the room dared cross her. Joanne, our senior procurement director who came with me, went off to inspect the product samples. I found an unoccupied chair, unscrewed my insulated thermos of hot tea, and settled in to wait for her. I was midway through an enormous yawn when snickers drifted over from a nearby cocktail table. "His oldest sister was negotiating an international acquisition at three in the morning," a voice murmured, dripping with condescension. "Meanwhile, this guy slept until two, and he still looks like he’s about to pass out in public." "Guess none of the Townsend family brains trickled down to him." I didn’t take offense. If anything, I leaned further back into the cushioned leather. Charlotte was brilliant, that was just a fact. Before leaving the house this morning, she had been leading a high-stakes video conference with our London division while simultaneously rummaging between the sofa cushions to find my favorite cashmere scarf. Once she found it, she wrapped it around my neck and gave me one simple instruction: sign the papers, don’t wander off, and wait for her to pick me up for dinner. Joanne returned a few minutes later, setting down the product dossiers alongside the purchase order. "I’ve tallied the allocations for every retail location—both employee appreciation packages and VIP client gifts," she said. "We’re sticking with Clarissa’s firm, so it’s just a matter of signing off on this draft." I reached out my hand. Before my fingers could touch the paper, a hand sporting a heavy gold watch snatched the folder away. Todd. The executive assistant Clarissa had hired a couple of months ago. He skimmed the first two pages, curled his lip, and tossed the document directly into a nearby trash can. "Mr. Townsend, you’ve been funneling money her way for ten years. Has she ever actually agreed to be your girlfriend?" A few of Clarissa's junior employees standing nearby burst into muffled giggles. I looked down at the trash bin, then shifted my gaze to him. "I came here to buy holiday gifts. Did I accidentally sign up for a marriage registry?" Todd choked on his words, his smug expression cooling into a glare. "Play dumb all you want. Who buys corporate supplies from the exact same woman for an entire decade?" He crossed his arms. "Clarissa’s showcase isn't a matchmaking mixer for trust-fund babies." I pointed at the blank master agreement sitting on the table. "I’m not looking for a date. I’m here to sign that." He slapped his palm down over the agreement, then casually flipped through a catalog of sample gift boxes. "Alright, enlighten me. What grade of tea leaves did you specify this year? Why did we upgrade the packaging material from linen to crushed velvet?" He leaned in, aggressive and intrusive. "Across your family’s twenty-three newly opened shopping plazas, what’s the exact distribution breakdown per location?" Before I could formulate an answer, Joanne took a sharp step forward. "Our procurement department finalized those exact specifications with your team last Tuesday. All the logistical data is in the—" "I asked Mr. Townsend," Todd interrupted, raising his voice so half the pavilion could hear. "Does an adult man really need a chaperone to do his talking for him?" People started wandering over, sensing a scene. "You guys must have your hands full," Todd sneered, addressing Joanne. "Doing every ounce of the heavy lifting just so he can lift a pen." I took a slow sip from my thermos, capped it, and pointed at the wastebasket. "The quantities are printed right there. You can pick it up and read it yourself." Todd barked a laugh, looking around as if he had just heard the funniest joke of the century. "So after all that, you have no clue, do you?" He shook his head. "Clarissa tours the manufacturing plants, redesigns the packaging, micromanages the shipping logistics down to the hour. You can’t even be bothered to look at an inventory manifest. And then you scrawl your name on the bottom line, and suddenly all the credit belongs to you." An older supervisor from Clarissa’s warehouse chimed in with a heavy sigh. "Last winter, Clarissa was working past two in the morning on an emergency pallet check. He sent a single text that said "looks good", and ten minutes later he posted on his story that he was going to sleep." I recognized that supervisor. Ten years ago, when I visited Clarissa’s cramped garage workshop for the first time, that same man had bowed to me three times while pouring my tea, his hands shaking with gratitude, murmuring that the orders meant his workers would actually get paid for the holidays. Now, he looked at me like I was a parasite sucking the life out of their company. "Mr. Townsend," the man muttered, "no matter how wealthy your family is, you can’t expect one woman to wait on you hand and foot forever." I straightened my posture against the back of the chair, raising my eyes as Clarissa walked toward us. "Is that what you think?" I asked her quietly. "That selling me products is the same thing as waiting on me hand and foot?" She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she gently tugged Todd behind her, smoothing the crisp fabric of her sleeve with manicured fingers. "Todd is new to the team, Kit. He speaks his mind. Don't take it personally." She paused, her gaze steady, almost reproachful. "But tell me—is a single word he said untrue?" Todd instantly shoved a newly printed rate sheet into her hands. "Are we seriously still giving him the wholesale discount this year? Because I can't stomach watching you get taken advantage of anymore." Clarissa glanced down at the highlighted discount tier, then tapped the line with a neat, unvarnished fingernail. "No discounts. We can't keep indulging him like this." Todd grabbed a red pen with triumphant flair and aggressively struck out every price deduction. His posture wasn't that of a vendor closing a massive sale; it was that of a hero liberating a captive from a decade of forced labor. "Year after year, you take Clarissa’s charity rates, go home to the Townsend estate, and pretend you’re some corporate prodigy. Aren't you tired of riding her coattails?" Todd sneered. "Without her carrying you across the finish line, how would an overgrown baby like you ever justify your existence to your family?" I slid the updated pricing sheet across the table toward Clarissa. "Those rates were negotiated based on massive volume. If your costs increased and you need to adjust your margins, we can sit down and renegotiate." Clarissa looked at me as though my words had genuinely wounded her. Her dark lashes fluttered, a picture of quiet endurance. "Kit, ordinary corporate clients pay full retail price. You’ve received rock-bottom rates for ten years. You really don't consider that an act of kindness on my part?" Joanne aggressively flipped open our historical purchasing portfolio. "A standard client orders fifty boxes at a time! The Townsend conglomerate orders hundreds of thousands! Volume dictates pricing in every commercial sector on Earth. That’s basic economics—" Clarissa held up a slim hand, cutting Joanne off. "Precisely because the volume is so massive, shaving even a small percentage off every unit compounds into a devastating loss on our side." Todd’s face darkened with righteous anger. He reached into his leather satchel and pulled out an accordion folder of historical receipts. "I ran the numbers for her. Over the last decade, the revenue she forfeited through your so-called 'volume discounts' totals three million dollars." He pushed a pre-typed promissory note across the polished wood, stopping it inches from my tea cup. "You got away with bleeding her dry in the past. But that ends today. You’re paying it back." I stared at the demand note for a long time. I had come here as a paying client, and somehow, I was being billed as a debtor. Todd took my silence for intimidation. He picked up a ballpoint pen and tried to jam it into my fingers. "Sign it. She's going to build a life and get married eventually. She can't keep subsidizing your lifestyle forever." I turned my head toward Clarissa. She took the folder from Todd, lowered her chin, and flipped through the pages with clinical detachment. A stray lock of hair fell loose against her cheek, and she tucked it behind her ear with a weary sigh. "And that's just the tangible cost of the goods," she murmured. "What about the labor? Curating your selections, redesigning gift sleeves, managing nationwide logistics on tight deadlines... Did I ever invoice you for the pieces of myself I poured into this?" There was genuine, unadorned sorrow on her face. She truly believed every syllable. A memory flickered in my mind, unbidden: ten years ago, Clarissa standing on the front steps of my parents' townhouse in the freezing rain, unable to secure the cash flow to buy raw materials. She had waited by the gate for four hours, desperately asking if I could release our deposit a week ahead of schedule. I hadn't wanted her to panic, so I authorized an immediate wire transfer within an hour. In the years that followed, as our mall portfolio grew, our corporate gift budget swelled. Her little workshop couldn't keep up, so she leased commercial warehouses and hired assembly crews. Every year, new suppliers sent exquisite gift hampers to my office, practically begging for an audience. But I was lazy. I hated the hassle of vetting strangers, so I always told my team, "Let’s check with Clarissa first." In ten years, I had never withheld a single invoice. Not by a single day. Last Christmas, my mother complimented the artisanal tea blend Clarissa provided. I sent Clarissa a brief message letting her know, and she replied within seconds: "As long as it makes you look good in front of your family, pulling those all-nighters was worth every second." At the time, I thought she was just being sweet. I told her to get some sleep. Now, I realized what she had actually meant. She believed she was my savior. I put the pen down on the glass tabletop. "Do you honestly believe that all these years, you've been working at a loss just to keep me afloat?" Clarissa closed the ledger, letting out a soft, resigned sigh. Her fingers lingered on the leather cover. "I never brought it up before because I didn't want to hurt your pride, Kit. Todd only did the audit because he hates seeing me run myself ragged. Just sign it. We can move past this." Her finance manager slid an ink pad across the table, offering me a familiar, patronizing grin. "Come now, Mr. Townsend. Three million dollars is the price of a couple of sports cars to someone like you. There's really no need to make things difficult for Clarissa." Todd caught sight of the Patek Philippe on my wrist and scoffed. "Happy to blow fortunes on toys, but the second you’re asked to settle an honest debt, your hands start shaking?" Joanne was shaking with fury. She snapped her binder shut and reached for her phone. "I am calling Miss Townsend right now." I placed my palm gently over her wrist, stopping her. With my other hand, I picked up the pen, clicked the cap shut, and laid it neatly beside my thermos. "No need to call anyone, Joanne," I said softly. "I understand the situation perfectly now." Clarissa’s tense expression softened, a flicker of relief washing over her features. She nodded at Todd. "Bring over the master agreement. Let him sign them both." Todd didn't touch the agreement on the table. Instead, he pulled out an entirely different contract from his briefcase, flipping straight to the term sheet. Where the term had previously read "one year", it now read "three years". "For the next three years, the Townsend luxury retail portfolio is legally locked into sourcing all annual corporate gifts exclusively through our firm," Todd announced, laying the new paperwork over the promissory note. "Pricing will be indexed to standard wholesale catalog rates. No preferential discounts." I looked up at Clarissa. "You signed off on this too?" She picked up her porcelain teacup, cradling the rim with both hands, adopting the patient tone of an elder explaining an obvious truth to an unruly child. "I handle the curation, the inventory, the quality control, and the shipping every single year, Kit. And at the end of it all, I still have to wait for you to wake up from an afternoon nap just to grace us with a signature. A three-year commitment saves us both the hassle of renegotiating every twelve months. Don't you hate unnecessary effort anyway?" She sounded so reasonable. So benevolent. As though stripping away my authority to choose our partners was merely an act of kindness to spare me from fatigue. I pushed both documents back across the polished mahogany. "I’m not signing the debt note," I said, my voice completely flat. "And I’m not renewing the contract for this year." Clarissa’s hand froze mid-air, her teacup hovering an inch above the saucer. She set it down with a sharp clatter, her patience evaporating. "Are you trying to threaten me with your business again? Kit, be serious. Aside from scribbling your signature on the dotted line, what have you ever actually done?" Todd let out a loud snort. "He really thinks holding the corporate stamp makes him an executive. Clarissa spoon-feeds him his entire career, and he walks around convinced he cooked the meal himself." I didn't spare Todd a glance. I kept my eyes fixed on Clarissa. "And if I refuse to sign my name this year?" Clarissa rubbed the bridge of her nose, her eyes tight with exasperation. "If you don't sign, what happens to your family's shopping centers? Do they just cancel the holidays?" She leaned forward, her voice dropping into a hard, dismissive register. "Do you even know which suppliers are reliable? Who can guarantee nationwide fulfillment during peak holiday shipping? If you had to start from scratch and review portfolios, could you even sit in a conference chair for thirty minutes without falling asleep?" Of course I couldn't. I despised meetings. But before we left the corporate office today, Joanne had already handed me a thoroughly vetted dossier of certified backup suppliers. I simply hadn't contacted any of them, because like every year prior, I hadn't wanted the trouble of switching. Seeing that I remained silent, Todd puffed up with smug satisfaction. "Your sisters work seventy-hour weeks expanding the empire, your parents trust you with this one tiny, insignificant task, and you still have to throw a temper tantrum. If you walk home empty-handed today, who do you think has to clean up your mess? Your family." An older executive who frequently did business with Clarissa stepped over, offering a patronizing pat on my shoulder. "Now, now, Mr. Townsend. We all know you prefer a low-stress lifestyle, but you can't place all the burden on Clarissa's shoulders. Just swallow your pride, apologize to her, and you get to go home as the young heir who successfully wrapped up his assignment. Isn't that better for everyone?" He picked up the pen and offered it to me with an oily smile. "Be a good boy. Don't let your big sister find out you couldn't even manage this." I looked at his outstretched hand. I didn't take the pen. All my life, if I accidentally slept through my own birthday party, my sisters would simply delay cutting the cake until I woke up. Yet these strangers seemed utterly convinced that my existence at home was a precarious tightrope walk. Clarissa looked vindicated, as if the room had finally acknowledged the immense cross she had been forced to bear. "Kit, your mother and sisters asked me to look out for you every year, and I never turned them down," she said, her tone softening into an almost maternal rebuke. "But I run a real corporation now. I have hundreds of employees to feed. I cannot spend the rest of my life dancing around your nap schedule." Suddenly, a profound exhaustion settled into my bones. Trying to communicate with her felt more draining than manually hauling three truckloads of freight. "I hired your company to deliver a commercial service," I said. "How does that translate into you taking care of me?" She looked away, lowering her voice so only our immediate circle could hear. "Some things are better left unsaid. Don't humiliate yourself." She nudged the demand note back toward me, offering me an off-ramp. "Settle the balance, apologize to Todd, and I’ll ensure the holiday hampers are handled flawlessly, just like always. Going forward, Todd will be your primary liaison for product selections and pricing. Don't bypass him to call me directly. Frankly, he understands this industry far better than you do." Todd immediately slid his business card across the wood. "Don't bother texting me after six in the evening. I don't coddle people." He checked his gold watch and leaned toward Clarissa. "You have your private consultation with Mr. Beaumont in twenty minutes. Let's not waste any more time on him." I glanced at the velvet-roped VIP section nearby. Gregory Beaumont. The legendary wholesale magnate Clarissa had spent six months courting, visiting his corporate headquarters three separate times without ever securing an audience. She had pulled every string in her network just to get him into this convention hall today. I didn't say another word. I took out my phone and sent a quick text to Joanne. [Send me the backup vendor portfolio. We're cutting Clarissa's firm loose.] Clarissa caught a glimpse of the screen. Assuming I was texting my oldest sister to throw a childish fit, she beat me to the punch, dialing Charlotte's direct line on speaker before putting the phone to her ear. "Charlotte? We have a small situation with Kit down here at the convention center. Could you come over for a moment?" She ended the call and placed her iPhone on the table with quiet confidence. "Good. We’ll settle this right in front of your sister," she said coolly. "You may not understand how the real world works, but the Townsend family is known for being rational." Charlotte arrived in less than ten minutes, carrying my wool overcoat over her arm. She draped the coat over the back of my chair, pulled out the seat beside me, sat down, and picked up the promissory note. "Is this the piece of paper you expect my brother to sign?" Todd beat Clarissa to the punch, opening his ledger with aggressive confidence. "Miss Townsend, you got here just in time. We've conducted a full audit of the preferential margins Mr. Townsend has taken over the past decade. We haven't overcharged him by a single cent." Clarissa stood up, maintaining a posture of calm, professional composure. "Charlotte, I’ve managed this account for Kit for ten years. Wherever I could accommodate him, I did. But Todd audited our historical books today, and Kit refuses to acknowledge the discrepancy. Now he’s threatening to pull the contract entirely. I understand he’s your baby brother, but my company is a serious enterprise. I can’t keep playing house with him." I had never seen her speak with such uninhibited bravado. Todd beamed at her, puffing out his chest. "You're too considerate, Clarissa. That's why he takes your sacrifices for granted." He picked up the original annual agreement that had been waiting for my signature. "Mr. Townsend, drop the entitled attitude. You won't find pricing like this anywhere else in the tri-state area, no matter how hard you search." I picked up the business card he had given me and dropped it onto his open ledger. "Then I won't search. Keep it." Todd's face darkened. In a single, theatrical motion, he grabbed the agreement and tore it cleanly down the center. "Clarissa built her empire on sheer merit! We don't need your family's pathetic handouts!" The shredded fragments fluttered through the air, scattering across the carpet near my shoes. Clarissa didn't stop him. In fact, she took a half-step sideways, shielding Todd behind her shoulder. "Stop using this contract to hold me hostage, Kit," she said, her voice freezing over. "I don't owe you anything." Charlotte’s eyes turned razor-sharp. She made a move to stand, but I reached out lazily and caught the cuff of her silk blouse. It was just holiday shopping. There was no reason to disrupt her day. "Charlotte," I mumbled, "I don't want to buy from her anymore." My sister looked down at me, then glanced at the confetti of torn paper at our feet, and sat back down, completely composed. "Alright. If you haven't finished picking, I'll sit here and keep you company." A cold smirk still lingered on Todd’s lips. Clarissa relaxed her furrowed brow, clearly convinced that Charlotte was merely indulging a younger sibling's petty tantrum. "Charlotte, the holiday hampers are an enterprise-level campaign," Clarissa said smoothly. "You really can't let him indulge—" Charlotte didn't even acknowledge the remark. She simply adjusted the collar of my overcoat around my shoulders. I opened the regional supplier directory app on my phone, selected our pre-drafted RFP file, and hit send into the master group chat. [Townsend Conglomerate: Holiday Gift Procurement. $250 Million Budget. Reopening public bidding effective immediately.] The moment the notification pinged across the network, chime after chime echoed throughout the entire exhibition hall. The executive who had just been telling me to 'be a good boy' looked down at his vibrating phone, preparing to continue lecturing Charlotte. But the moment his screen lit up, his jaw went slack. His eyes scanned the digital RFP, and he snapped his head toward me in absolute shock. Clarissa hadn't noticed yet. She gave a faint, patronizing chuckle. "There's no point humoring him, Charlotte. When the rubber meets the road, he'll still end up—" The executive had already set down his champagne glass and scurried right past her shoulder. "Mr. Townsend! I have our firm’s new luxury reserve collection right here in my briefcase! Would you do us the honor of taking a look?" A second supplier shoved his way through the crowd, practically knocking Todd aside as he offered his business card to Joanne. Within ten seconds, the entire circle of executives who had spent the last hour fawning over Clarissa turned their backs on her and surged toward my table in a frantic wave. Clarissa reached out an arm, trying to intercept one of them, but the man brushed her aside without looking, frantically pulling up his company’s digital catalog. Her arm was left hovering awkwardly in mid-air. Todd's smirk vanished into thin air. "What are you all doing? He's just throwing a tantrum! Clarissa hasn't even—" The side doors of the VIP pavilion suddenly swung open. Todd caught sight of the figure stepping out and immediately clamped his mouth shut, yanking hard on Clarissa's sleeve. "Clarissa! Look! It's Mr. Beaumont!" Gregory Beaumont. The untouchable industry titan Clarissa had failed to meet three times in a row. His reserved brass nameplate was still sitting in the VIP lounge right next to Clarissa's designated seat. Clarissa snapped back to reality, hastily smoothing her lapels, and rushed forward to greet him. "Mr. Beaumont! Good afternoon, I'm Clarissa from—" Beaumont raised a single hand, signaling her to pause, and walked directly past her without breaking his stride. The sea of suppliers crowding around me parted instantly. Beaumont took one look at the rigid wooden chair I was slouching in, turned around, and personally dragged over a high-backed executive armchair with plush velvet cushioning. He leaned down, opened his leather-bound portfolio to the very first page, and smiled with an exquisite, deferential warmth. "Mr. Townsend, please, have a seat. Take all the time you need." He tilted his head with an easy grin. "Any chance our company might finally earn your business this year?"