Chapter 40

Istepped into the grand foyer of the family estate, greeted by the butler as usual. "Good evening."

He smiled. "It's good to see you again, Eugene."

"Thanks. How are you?"

"Very well. They are waiting for you in the study."

I knocked on the closed door, feeling a hint of nerves. It was like being summoned to the principal's office or, more recently, the warden's office. I heard a grunt and took it as an invitation to open the door. I walked into the familiar room that exuded an air of opulence, with cherry oak furnishings and the lingering scent of cigar smoke and bourbon.

Murray and Dad were already seated. I glanced over at my brother, trying to get a read on the situation. Murray offered a subtle thumbs-up, reassuring me I had dressed appropriately for the occasion in black slacks and a sports jacket. I didn't want to go overboard and wear a suit. That would look too obvious.

"Gene, take a seat," my father instructed, gesturing to the sofa beside Murray.

I settled onto the firm cushions, reminding myself I was an adult. I wasn't going to get grounded or get my phone taken away. Even though I was technically bigger than my father, he still had a way of making me feel like a ten-year-old kid.

Dad got up and retrieved a box of cigars from a nearby table. This was part of the ritual. He gave me my first cigar when I was sixteen. It made me sick.

I wasn't fond of them but I could look the part. Dad opened the box and proudly displayed what I knew were very expensive cigars. I didn't know shit about them and just plucked one. Murray took a little longer to choose. Once he did, Dad handed me the clipper. I quickly clipped the end off my cigar with ease, not because I had done it a lot, but because I had watched him do it plenty of times. Dad had taught me to do this for the first time on my sixteenth birthday. Although I loathed the taste of the tobacco, I had kept up appearances ever since.

We each lit our cigars, and I winced as the first acrid smoke hit the back of my throat.

"I'm glad you could be here tonight," my father began, sinking back into his plush leather chair.

"Of course." I nodded.

"I don't think it's a secret I'm getting old," he said.

I wasn't sure if he was joking or not. I looked over at Murray, who had an amused expression on his face. "You do look a little dusty," Murray joked.

I wasn't sure this was funny. "What do you mean?" I asked.

"He's old," Murray said. "He was around when dinosaurs roamed the earth. He practically invented fire."

I laughed, a little unnerved at the shift in the conversation. "Murray," I warned.

"He's not wrong," Dad said. "Although it was my father that invented fire."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Murray knew our father better than I did, I supposed. I didn't think I was brave enough to joke about the old man's age. Or anything. Murray could get away with it. Not me.

"What's going on?" I asked. "Are you sick?"

"I want to talk about the family business," he declared.

Archer's pulse quickened. Was this the moment he had been waiting for? Murray gave me a knowing look. He obviously knew this was coming.

"I've come to realize I'm not as sharp as I once was," Dad continued. "I think I might be losing my touch. I'm not as savvy. I can't look at a potential venture and know if it's going to work or fail. Technology is moving faster than I am. Murray's foresight in recognizing the potential of new investments like Google, Amazon, and AI show I don't have it anymore. I never would have looked at any of those and thought that was a moneymaker. I didn't see the bigger pictures. I'm old and used to more tangible things."

I nodded, taking another puff on the cigar to look cool while blinking back the watering in my eyes. Not tears. My eyes were burning from the smoke. I didn't want him to think I was crying or that I was too weak to enjoy the cigar.

"I want to retire," Dad said, his gaze shifting between me and Murray. "But I can't leave the company in uncertain hands. This company is too much to leave to Murray alone. He can't steer the ship by himself. I know you think you can handle it Murray, but I know better. I've been at the helm for a long time and it's not an easy job. You've been a huge asset since you've come on. I don't know how I managed to do it on my own before. Maybe because it wasn't as big before. You've helped grow the business. I'm proud of you for doing that. I've never considered hiring an outsider to lead."

My heart skipped a beat. Could this be the opportunity I had been yearning for—to prove myself worthy of my father's trust and the family legacy?

I glanced over at Murray to try and get a read on what was happening. He just gave a slight shake of his head, telling me to wait, pay attention.

I gave my father my full attention once again. "I understand."

"Murray tells me you're still seeing the young woman you brought to his birthday party," he said.

"I am." I assumed that was a good thing. It proved I was settling down. There was nothing controversial about Mary Ellen. She had literally been a virgin. I didn't think it could get any purer than that.

"She sounds pedestrian," he said.

It was the equivalent of getting doused with ice water. I stared blankly at him. "Excuse me? Mary Ellen is a good woman. She's not pedestrian."

My attitude shifted in a second. I would defend her, even if it meant getting kicked out of the family. There was no way in hell I was going to let him disparage her. She did nothing to deserve his ire.

Dad held up his hand. "In a good way, son. She sounds honest. Kind. Simple. A good woman."

I relaxed a little. "She is."

"I'm tired," Dad said. "I'm tired in all ways. I'm tired of holding on to the disappointment I've been carrying since you did what you did in college. Life is too short. Time is slipping through my fingers. I don't know when it happened, but I woke up one day and realized I'm old."

"You're not that old," I told him.

"I'm old enough to know I'm done," he said. "I'm ready to live. I don't want to be tied to the job. If I keep working, the stress of the job might very well kill me. I don't want to go out wishing I would have retired earlier. I want to live long enough to meet my grandchildren. Your mother and I want to sit back and spoil our grandchildren."

"I get it," I said.

"I think if you can make yourself worthy of a good woman, then you can make yourself worthy of running the family business alongside Murray. I think you can do it. I want to see you do it. That's assuming you still want the job."

I don't know what I want. I've dismissed the idea of ever being involved in the family business. Hell, I don't know if I can even do the job. I've been bumming around for so long, the suit and tie thing really doesn't appeal to me anymore.

"What about Mom?" I asked.

"What about her?" Dad asked.

"Does she want me in the family business?" I asked. "Is she ready to let me back into her good graces?"

Murray shifted uncomfortably beside me and my father couldn't look me directly in the eyes.

"That, son, is a question that only your mother can answer," my father began, shifting uneasily in his seat. He took a deep breath, as if gathering the strength to continue. "All I can tell you is that she is aware of this conversation. We've discussed it before. She has concerns."

"Makes sense," I replied, already sensing the cold sting of my mother's disapproval. The mistakes of my past had cast long shadows over our relationship, shadows that it seemed she wasn't ready to step out from. My mother placed a great deal of value on her image and reputation. I sullied that, and in her eyes, that was a grievous sin.

Murray leaned forward, his eyes serious. "Mom is going to come around. Just give her time. You've changed, and she needs to see that for herself."

"I hope you're right," I muttered, my mind already swirling with thoughts of making amends with my mother, proving myself to Mary Ellen, and showing my father that I could handle the responsibility he was willing to hand over.

Every morning I opened my eyes, I knew I had to be conscious of every decision I made. I had to prove I wasn't going to fuck up and land in prison. It was a constant battle to prove myself. I supposed that was why I liked riding my bike and getting tattoos. I got to lean into my bad side. They thought I was bad and I was just leaning into that.

"I personally think you're ready," Dad said. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm ready to retire and I know it takes two people to run the place. You've come a long way. I notice. I see the change."

"Thank you," I said. "I want this, Dad. I want to make things right."

Dad offered a weary smile. That was when I saw the exhaustion he spoke of. He was tired. I did feel a little guilty for adding to the stress over the years with the prison thing. That couldn't have been easy on them. I knew they loved me, even if they weren't fond of me. Seeing me in cuffs and prison orange wasn't the way they wanted to see their oldest son. I was supposed to be the son that followed in my father's footsteps.

"Then prove it, son," he said. "Prove it not just to me, but to yourself. And to your mother."

"I will," I vowed, forcing down the bubbling uncertainty in my gut. "I can do this."

"I believe you, son."

With the business out of the way, thing settled and we talked about other topics. Murray brought up baseball, something my father enjoyed talking about. I casually stubbed out my cigar and leaned back in my chair, allowing the two of them to banter back and forth about batting averages and pitchers. It was comforting in a strange way, the familiar rhythm of their conversation lulling me into a sense of peace I hadn't felt in years. I missed hanging out with my family.

After a while, I got to my feet and thanked my dad for giving me the chance to prove myself. I walked out of the mansion feeling a sense of relief. And then I remembered my mother. She had not shown herself. I wasn't even sure she was home.

If she was, she was avoiding me at all costs.