Chapter 22

Charlotte’s visit home makes me consider a bit of a trip down memory lane. While her relationship with her sister has always been shitty, my relationship with Cody was once so much better.

I’ve got to figure out what the hell is going on with him, so I head home too, figuring I can refresh the gear in my duffel bag, grab a workout, and see if Cody’s around for a chat, brother to brother. Hell, maybe I can get Dad involved too, and we can really lay all this shit out and get ourselves straightened out.

I don’t even have a chance to knock on the front door before Hamilton’s opening it, looking professional, as always. “Mister Lance.”

“Hamilton, good to see you. Anybody home?” I ask, coming into the foyer.

He dips his chin, his eyes neutral. “Indeed. Mister Jacobs is in his study. Mister Cody is in his room. Can I get them for you? Or perhaps you’re trying to avoid them?”

He has a glint in his eye, and I’d bet he doesn’t miss a thing that happens around here. I grin before telling him, “Nah, I got this.” I lick my lips, putting my thumb and index finger in my mouth and letting out a piercing whistle that echoes through the house. “I doubt you use that one?”

“Indeed, sir.” Still, Hamilton looks slightly amused as doors suddenly slam and heads pop out. Dad, Cody, and Mariella stick their heads into the foyer, but Mariella quickly disappears again.

“What the hell’s going on?” Dad asks.

“Wanted to talk to you two, if you can spare a minute,” I say, already walking toward the great room.

I can hear Cody grumble, “Oh, of course we can . . . for you.” But he follows.

We sit down, and Hamilton offers everyone a drink, but I decline for us all, giving Cody a look that dares him to disagree. He sighs and waves his hand at Hamilton, telling him it’s fine.

Once Hamilton excuses himself, I look from my Dad to my brother. “I’ve been going over files, reports, projections, spreadsheets, and more until I’m damn near blind. I wanted to tell you what I’ve found.”

Dad leans back, listening. Cody’s eyes glaze over, already done with the conversation.

“Admittedly, I’m coming in at a disadvantage. I’m a SEAL, and my MBA isn’t from a fancy school like Yale. But I didn’t need that to get a fair assessment of the current standings. What I’ve found is that the company is doing well, exceedingly well.” Dad’s brows shoot up, and even Cody looks slightly more interested.

“Compared to?” Dad asks.

“Compared to the rest of the bio-tech industry.”

Using visual aides from my computer, I explain the points where the company is doing well, above expectations in most areas. “The only area I see that needs true improvement is employee retention, which in my experience is based on morale. The company can use some more esprit de corps.”

Dad remains unconvinced. “What about the prototype project for spinal cages with brain-computer interfaces? It was an utter failure, to the tune of millions.”

Cody tenses, jaw so tight I’m surprised his teeth aren’t breaking from the sheer force. Dad looks at him accusingly, and I start to get a clearer picture of what’s going on here. Dad is a brilliant man but can’t see the forest for the trees because he’s stuck, running the same loop in his mind about who and what we are—Cody, me, even the company.

“Dad, one of your biggest failures is the coffee on the first floor,” I shoot back, a side flank attack to wake him up. “I’ve had better on a hospital ship in the North Atlantic, and it’s the first impression you make. You never could make a decent cup of coffee, so why are you even trying? Make tea or smoothies or something else because you’re a shitty coffee maker.”

It’s a nonsense approach, but I need something to shock him out of his rutted path. Dad’s face immediately pinches, and I know I’ve made an impression. “What the hell are you talking about? Coffee? Who cares about that? I don’t even make the coffee! If it’s shitty, talk to whoever makes it.”

He looks at me like I’ve lost every marble out of my skull, and I deliver my point. “Exactly. You don’t make it, just like Cody didn’t make the spinal cages. But yet, you’re blaming him for the whole project just because he managed it. You know what I saw when I took a close look at that venture?”

Dad huffs. “Is this the part where you gang up on the old man?”

“You asked me to do this,” I growl. “Do you want to hear it or not?” I take his silence as answer enough. “I saw a project that was earmarked as a long-shot from the get-go, but one with the potential for a huge payoff. And you were the one who signed off on it. No one else. So, project underway, budget is within parameters, initial reports promising but very early. Then, the expo comes up and it was decided that the cages should be paraded out as the wave of the future, one that Jacobs Bio-Tech is designing themselves. Who decided to show the cages at the expo?”

Cody looks at Dad, who begrudgingly admits, “Me. They were promising at the time.”

“I know, but your hurry to showcase led to overtime hours, rush orders on materials, and other costly expenditures,” I point out. “None of which would have been a problem except the tech didn’t work. It’s still in Ramp;D but looking less promising than some other projects, so their budget’s been slashed.”

Dad growls, looking at Cody. “That’s right. It didn’t work.”

I growl right back, frustrated that he’s not seeing the big picture here. “Cody, what settings do you use for the microscopic lens to see as you work?”

Cody smirks, already seeing where I’m going. “Not a fucking clue, since I don’t use them. I’m a paper pusher.” Then he looks Dad dead in the eye, years of resentment in his words. “Not a barista.”

Every bit of Dad’s air escapes as he plops back in the chair, his hands going to his salt and pepper hair to pull at the strands as his volume gets louder and louder. “But this isn’t coffee, it was a multimillion-dollar project! And all that money was lost on your watch.”

“You’ll never get it, will you? I’m not a fuck-up!” Cody says, standing up. “I’m the one who’s done everything you’ve ever wanted—stay here and work the family business. Hell, if you’d asked me to marry the damn blonde and start popping out grandbabies, I would’ve hopped to it. But I’ll never be him. And that means no matter what I do, it’ll never be good enough.”

He stomps out of the room, and from far away, I hear a door slam and music start blaring.

Dad shakes his head, exhaustion and frustration washing through him. “Do you see what I’m dealing with? He’s immature, always folds under pressure. This is why I need you here, Lance. It’s too much for me. I’m not old, still got some years in this ticker,” he says, patting his chest. “But I thought I’d be able to slow down by now. I promised your mother I’d take her to Europe for her birthday, but I can’t even see leaving for a week, much less the month-long trip she wants to take.”

I lean forward in my chair, looking Dad in the eye. What I’m about to say is one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to say, and I’ve informed wives that their husbands are never coming home.

I steel myself, thankful for my years of training to face the hard shit head-on.

“Dad, Cody’s not the problem. You are.”

That gets his attention.

“I don’t know what happened between you two after I was gone, but he’s a good worker. His projects are managed well, on time and under budget, and his staff loves him. You, on the other hand, are this tornado that blows through the office, blowing his projects up and then blaming him. I don’t know if it’s stress or just something you’ve got personally with Cody, but it’s clear. You’re the problem, not him.”

I wait, expecting the explosion of justifications, explanations, and arguments. But he sags, broken, his eyes unseeing as he stares at the floor. I wish he was yelling instead of this. He’s always been larger than life to me, a role model I hoped to live up to, but now he looks small, uncertain, and it kills me.

Still looking down, he says quietly, “Did I ever tell you how I took the company from pharmaceuticals to bio-tech?”

I shake my head, not seeing the connection.

“I’d been working at Jacobs Pharma for decades under your grandpa, and it was getting to be a tough market to capitalize on. Fewer and fewer projects were panning out, and the amount of work to get that one-percent edge over the competition was ridiculous. So I proposed that we expand at least, diversify a bit so we had a more stable revenue stream.” He huffs, his eyes glassy as he remembers. “We argued so loudly and so often the walls of the old headquarters would shake and people would scatter if we were in the same room together. Dad wouldn’t hear of it. He was convinced I was throwing away two generations of hard work to chase some crazy dream. He just wanted to make another cholesterol med, a sure thing.”

“Build a better mousetrap?” I say, and he nods.

“And so we held steady until he retired and I took over the reins. I made the transition slowly at first, but when the name changed, he was furious. Accused me of ruining his legacy, of being a young upstart who didn’t know my ass from my elbow, and vowing that I’d see the day he was right and I was out on the streets.” He’s quiet for a moment, and I try to think back to the grandpa who died when I was just a boy. I have impressions of peppermint and pipe smoke, but not much else.

“He died before he saw the success I’d made of what he started. Never saw the dream come true. He died thinking I was a fuckup, and he knew best,” he says sadly.

“But you did know what you were doing and have done a damn fine job of turning Jacobs into the primary bio-tech company on the West Coast, and it’s positioned well to be a global force against the big dogs of the industry. You did that.”

He looks up at me, pride shining in his eyes, but I have to finish the thought. “But you didn’t do it alone. Let go, Dad. You’re holding on too tightly, to the company, to Cody, to me. And it’s killing you and killing everyone around you. You’ve earned some time to relax. Take that trip with Mom, and trust that the people you trained will take care of Jacobs Bio-Tech.”

“I don’t want to become obsolete,” he confesses. “Hell, maybe now I know how your grandpa felt. I thought your coming home would help. Though I’m not sure if I thought it’d give me more time because you’d have to be trained or less time because you’ve always been your own man. Maybe a bit of both?”

“You don’t need me, Dad. You never have, and I’m not sure I’ll ever come onboard at Jacobs. Cody’s your guy. He knows that company inside and out. He’s young, and you’re stressing him out to his limits, but he’s a believer in bio-tech and that’ll make all the difference. I’m not saying you just toss him the ropes, but you need to step back, let him shine on his own. You might be surprised what he’ll show you if you let him engage and show you his skills. He’s got plenty.”

He looks down the hallway where Cody disappeared, pensive and thoughtful. “I really fucked up with him, huh?”

I nod, agreeing with him. “You really did. But he wants to please you, so I think you can make it up to him. Admitting you’re wrong will go a long way, and better behavior going forward will go even further.”

Dad turns back to me, smiling for the first time in over an hour. “I raised two strong-willed, intelligent, good men. You two are my greatest accomplishment.”

I lift a brow, grinning wide. “Pretty sure you had help there too, Old Man. Mom was the one who patched us up when we did stupid shit. You were the one who yelled at us for doing it.”

“Both equally important parts of parenting,” he jokes before narrowing his eyes. “You know, I think your mother is having a bit of a crisis herself. My guess is that’s what the matchmaking was all about. I’m having growing pains about stepping back from the company, and she’s having the same thoughts, that her family doesn’t need her anymore. A grandbaby seemed like the perfect solution to her, I think. Don’t be too mad at her, okay?”

“I’m not. She’s backed off after the dinner,” I admit. “Or I guess juked and is now throwing her eggs in Charlotte’s basket for a grandkid. Wait, that sounds . . . wrong.”

Dad laughs. “I know what you mean. Just promise me that you won’t let Mom influence you in this. You’ve always gone your own way, and I’ve always been proud of you for doing it. I am proud of you, Lance.”

My eyes burn. The words feel good down to my soul. I think every child has a desire to make their parents proud, and though I’ve never acted with that goal in mind, it feels good to know that I’ve done something good.

“Thanks, Dad.”

He gets up, and I swear his eyes are a bit teary too. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I have another difficult conversation I need to have, some crow to eat, if you will.”

I smile, glad that he’s going to make amends. “If you’d like, I happen to know a great baker who could probably put those blackbirds into a rather delicious pie. Might make it easier to get down?”

He shakes his head, laughing lightly as he heads down the hall, shoulders wide and proud.