Chapter 8

Ipulled up to the grand estate nestled in Highland Park that I once called home. Anyone driving down the street and looking at this house would think the perfect family lived here. The towering trees, blooming flower beds, and the meticulously manicured lawn all presented the image of perfection. That's exactly what it's supposed to look like. Image is everything.

It had been years since I'd spent any significant time here, both intentional and not so intentional.

The memories came flooding back as I climbed the stone steps to the front door. I had no idea if I was going to be welcomed or not. I was sure they would say I was welcome, but I wasn't sure they would really mean it. I rang the bell and waited.

"Eugene," Lewis, the butler that had been in my family's employ for years, answered the door.

"Hey, Lewis." I nodded. "Are they home?"

"They are," he said with a soft smile. "How have you been?"

"Good," I replied.

Lewis was a good man. I believed he was sincere. He had always been nice to me. He never judged me even when I deserved his judgment. He was more like a loving uncle than a paid employee.

My mother walked into the foyer. "Gene," she said, her voice tinged with surprise. Gene was the name we agreed upon. My family wasn't calling me Archer but I refused to let them call me Eugene. Lewis did because he insisted on being formal.

My mother looked me up and down, taking in every detail of my appearance from head to toe. I could feel her judgment. "What brings you here?" she asked.

It was notable she didn't ask how I was or say she was happy to see me.

I offered her a small smile, shaking my head at the implied question. "Just visiting, Mom," I replied, my tone casual despite the tension that lingered between us.

She gave me a cautious hug, as if I were an acquaintance rather than her son. "It's nice to see you," she murmured.

"Is Dad home?" I asked.

"He is." She smiled and quickly stepped away. It was like she was happy to have an excuse to get away from me. She led me through the house to the back patio where my father was sitting, engrossed in a stack of tax paperwork.

He didn't look up as we approached, his brow furrowed in concentration. It was only when my mother cleared her throat that he finally glanced up, surprise flickering in his eyes at the sight of me standing before him.

"Gene," he said, his voice gruff as he gestured for me to take a seat. "What brings you here?"

"The same as always, Dad," I said, my voice steady and outwardly calm. "Checking up on family."

My father leaned back in his chair, the creases on his forehead becoming more pronounced with age. He frowned a lot. It was the look I was used to. He too was giving me a onceover, just like my mother had. I was sure he was searching for any signs of hidden motives or clandestine intentions.

His bland stare lingered on me for a few more moments before he eventually dropped his gaze to his paperwork again. "Well, you've seen us now. We're all doing well. Nothing new to report."

There was an awkward pause as I took the seat opposite him. It wasn't like I was expecting a warm welcome. My parents weren't the warm and fuzzy type.

Murray appeared, a drink in hand. "Hey," he said when he saw me. "I didn't know you were coming by."

Murray lived at the family estate. They found it was easier to run the business and deal with early morning and late-night calls when they dealt with overseas business partners and clients. It wasn't like he was really living with our parents. He had his own private entrance and his own quarters. I had been offered the same option to live at home, but that was quickly rescinded after going to prison.

I scoffed. "You guys act like I haven't been here in decades."

"It's been a while," Murray said and slid into one of the chairs.

"I just wanted to catch up," I said, trying to keep my tone light. "It's been a while since we've all been together."

My father regarded me for a moment, his expression unreadable. But then he nodded, as if coming to a decision. "Fair enough," he said, setting aside the paperwork. "So, what's new with you, Gene? Will you be going back to school? Are you prepared to take your position in the family business?"

I wasn't sure if that was a joke or not. I was pretty sure we all knew I wasn't looking for a job in the family business.

"No," I replied coolly. "But I do have something important to discuss," I said.

My mother let out a sigh and took a seat. "Are you in trouble again?" she asked.

"No," I replied with a frown.

Shit, a guy got into trouble one time, and they were acting like I was a regular criminal. I looked at their skeptical expressions and had to shake my head. They looked like they were bracing themselves for another one of my harebrained schemes.

"What is it now, Eugene?" My father's tone was curt, his brow furrowed in annoyance. He was a man of few words, but each one carried the weight of his disappointment. He used my full name, which said he was very serious.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the impending rejection. "I want to talk about the old library downtown."

They all looked stumped. "What library?" Murray asked.

I should have known they wouldn't know what I was talking about. Why would they?

"It's one of the older libraries in the city," I said. "It's not all that busy, but trust me, it's there."

"I don't understand why you're talking about a library," my mother said. "Do you owe them a fine or something?"

"No, they're planning to tear down," I said. "They want to put up an apartment building."

They all looked at each other. I saw the confusion on their faces. They probably thought I was drunk.

"And you want to invest in the company building the apartments?" Mom asked.

"No, I want to stop them," I said. "That library is a piece of our town's history. It's a symbol of our community, and if we let it be torn down and turned into some luxury high-rise, we're losing a part of ourselves."

Murray burst into laughter. "Good one. Really, what's going on?"

"I'm serious," I said irritably. "I think we should purchase the library. We can do the necessary updates to make it more inviting. That will increase the number of people who use the place. I've been in there. It's rough. The carpet is threadbare. The lighting is horrible. It could use some modernizing."

My father scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. "And what exactly do you propose we do about it?"

"I just told you," I said. "We can save it from being demolished."

I saw the moment my father dismissed my idea like I was crazy. I looked at my mom, but she seemed just as disappointed. I turned my attention to Murray, hoping he would back me up.

"What would we do with a library?" my father asked.

"We could turn it into something great, something that benefits the whole community. It's a good way for the family name to be associated with something positive. It's good publicity."

My father rubbed his forehead. "And who's going to oversee this great endeavor?" he asked, a certain sarcasm in his voice.

"Well, I think I could do it," I suggested tentatively.

"You, Gene?" Murray laughed. "You can't even manage your own life."

I glared at him, my fists curling in frustration. "I'm serious, Murray," I snapped back. "I think this is a good thing.

My parents exchanged another glance, this one tinged with disbelief. "And just where do you expect to get the money for that?" my mother asked. "You're expecting us to write a check and just hand it over?"

"That's not what I'm asking for," I replied, frustration bubbling up inside me. "I'm not asking for your money. I'm asking for your support, your belief that this is something worth fighting for."

"We've already supported you enough. We've bailed you out of your messes time and time again. We're not about to throw money at some pet project of yours just to appease your guilt."

Guilt. The word hung in the air between us, a reminder of my past mistakes, of the disappointment I had caused my family. I clenched my jaw, swallowing back the bitter taste of regret.

"This isn't about guilt," I said through gritted teeth. "It's about doing what's right. It's about doing something that will help a community that doesn't have the means to save the library themselves."

But my words fell on deaf ears. My parents had made up their minds. They assumed I was trying to get the money from my trust fund for personal reasons.

Murray cleared his throat. "Maybe we should consider his proposal," he suggested. "It's not often he shows this kind of passion for something. Maybe there's more to it than meets the eye. And you guys could get your names on a big plaque. A ribbon cutting ceremony and all the stuff that makes people feel warm and fuzzy. And it's great for taxes."

My parents turned to him, their expressions incredulous. "Are you serious?" my father asked, his voice tinged with disappointment. "You're actually taking his side on this?"

Murray shrugged, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "I'm not taking sides, Dad. I'm just saying we should at least hear him out. Who knows? Maybe he's onto something."

But my parents were unmoved. They would never believe me again. In their eyes, I would always be the black sheep of the family, the one who couldn't be trusted to make responsible decisions. And maybe they were right. Maybe I was indeed the screw-up they'd always seen me as. I felt a burning desire to prove myself, to prove I wasn't bad.

"Look, I know I've made mistakes," I began, trying to stay calm. "I know I don't exactly have a track record of responsibility or good judgment. But this isn't about me. This is about preserving something important."

My father scoffed again, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. "And since when have you been concerned about preserving anything?" he asked.

"Since now," I replied evenly. "Since I saw that place and met the people who rely on it. Since I saw the opportunity to do something worthwhile."

Their expressions said it all. They weren't interested. They saw it as a money grab. They were never going to believe otherwise.

With a heavy sigh, I pushed my chair back from the table, rising to my feet. "Fine," I said, my voice tinged with resignation. "Forget I even mentioned it. Clearly, I'm wasting my breath."

I turned to leave, feeling the sting of their disapproval like a physical blow to the chest.

"You know, you never have apologized," my mother said.

"What?"

"You embarrassed us," she said. "Humiliated us. You made us look like fools."

"It was never about you," I said.

"Our friends ask us about you all the time," Mom said. "They wonder what you're up to and wish you well."

"I'm sure they do," I said, rolling my eyes. "I'll walk away. I would hate to have the neighbors notice your convict son came to visit."

They had yet to forgive me for the mistakes I had made in college, for the embarrassment I had brought upon our family. And maybe they never would. But that didn't mean I was going to stop trying to make amends, to prove to them that I was capable of more than they believed.

I got on my bike and looked up at the house I once called home. I made peace with the fact that I would never see another dime from them, never receive the compassion I so desperately craved. But maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to make a difference on my own terms.