Citizen of the Galaxy by Robert A. Heinlein

Grandfather Bradley continued, “So we’ll say no more about it. On this other matter I’ll give you the advice I would give your departed father: if you feel that you have no head for trade, you don’t have to enter it. But to run away and join the Guard, like some childish romantic — no, Son! But you needn’t make up your mind for years. John is a very able regent; you don’t have a decision facing you.” He stood up. “I know, for I’ve discussed this with John, and he’s willing, in all humility, to carry the burden a little farther . . . or much farther, if need be. And now we had all better seek our pillows. Morning comes early.”

Thor left the next morning, with polite assurances that the house was his — which made him suspect that it was. He went to Rudbek City, having reached a decision during a restless night. He wanted to sleep with a live ship around him. He wanted to be back in Pop’s outfit; being a billionaire boss wasn’t his style.

He had to do something first; dig out those papers that father and mother had signed, compare them with the ones prepared for him — since father must have known what was needed — sign them, so that Uncle Jack could get on with the work after he was gone. Grandfather was right about that; John Weemsby knew how to do the job and he didn’t He should be grateful to Uncle Jack. He would thank him before he left. Then off Terra and out to where people talked his language!

He buzzed Uncle Jack’s office as soon as he reached his own, was told that he was out of town. He decided that he could write a note and make it sound better — oh yes! Must say good-by to Leda. So he buzzed the legal department and told him to dig his parents’ authorizations out of the vault and send them to his office.

Instead of papers, Judge Bruder arrived. “Rudbek, what’s this about your ordering certain papers from the vault?”

Thorby explained. “I want to see them.”

“No one but officers of the company can order papers from the vault”

“What am I?”

“I’m afraid you are a young man with confused notions. In time, you will have authority. But at the moment you are a visitor, learning something about your parents’ affairs.”

Thorby swallowed it; it was true, no matter how it tasted. “I’ve been meaning to ask you about that. What’s the progress in the court action to have my parents declared dead?”

“Are you trying to bury them?”

“Of course not. But it has to be done, or so Uncle Jack says. So where are we?”

Bruder sniffed. “Nowhere. Through your doing.”

“What do you mean?”

“Young man, do you think that the officers of this company will initiate a process which would throw affairs of the firm into incredible confusion unless you take necessary steps to guard against it? Why, it may take years to settle the wills — during which, business would come to a stop . . . simply because you neglected to sign a few simple instruments which I prepared weeks ago.”

“You mean nothing will be done until I sign?”

“That is correct”

“I don’t understand. Suppose I were dead — or had never been born. Does business stop every time a Rudbek dies?”

“Mmm . . . well, no. A court authorizes matters to proceed. But you are here and we must take that into consideration. Now see here, I’m at the very end of my patience. You seem to think, simply because you’ve read a few balance sheets, that you understand business. You don’t. For example your belief that you can order instruments turned over to you that were given to John Weemsby personally and are not even company property. If you were to attempt to take charge of the firm at this time — if we proceeded with your notion to have your parents declared dead — I can see that we would have all sorts of confusion while you were finding your balance. We can’t afford it. The company can’t afford it. Rudbek can’t afford it. So I want those papers signed today and no more shilly-shallying. You understand?”