Chương 13
“Twelve point four including benefits and taxes.”
My father looked at him.
“You didn’t know?”
“I know the run rate.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Blake stood again, but this time without anger.
“I need five minutes.”
Evelyn nodded.
He walked out.
Nobody followed him.
My father remained seated.
Thomas started quietly explaining covenant mechanics to him.
I stopped listening.
Through the glass wall, I could see Blake standing near the windows at the far end of the hall.
His shoulders were hunched.
A woman in a navy suit passed him carrying a laptop and barely looked up.
To her, he was just another executive having a bad Friday.
That ordinary indifference felt almost cruel.
I excused myself.
Evelyn watched me but did not stop me.
Blake heard the conference room door close behind me.
He did not turn around.
“If you’re coming to enjoy this, take a number.”
“I’m not.”
“Sure.”
I stood several feet away.
The skyline beyond the glass had disappeared into gray sleet.
He put both hands in his pockets.
“You always wanted to be better than me.”
“That’s not true.”
He laughed.
“Come on.”
“I wanted Dad to think I mattered as much as you did.”
“That’s worse.”
“Probably.”
He finally turned.
His face looked tired in a way expensive clothes could not fix.
“You think being the favorite was fun?”
“Mostly.”
“Of course you do.”
“You got the office.”
“I got Dad.”
“So did I.”
“No.”
He shook his head.
“You got to leave.”
I almost walked away.
Then I stopped.
“You pushed my daughter into a cake.”
His face changed.
“I know.”
“You told me she barely got hurt.”
“I know.”
“You let Dad threaten me while she was bleeding.”
“I know.”
“You sent me a text saying I couldn’t take a joke.”
Blake looked at the carpet.
“I know.”
I had expected resistance.
The absence of it made me angrier.
“Don’t do that.”
He looked up.
“Do what?”
“Stand there saying you know like that counts.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Nothing right now.”
“Then why did you come out here?”
Because part of me had seen the look on his face when payroll became real.
Because I had spent years imagining him as a man who never carried anything heavier than his own ego.
Because the truth had become more inconvenient than hatred.
“I wanted to see whether you were leaving.”
“Thinking about it.”
“If you leave now, Ardent walks.”
“Maybe I don’t care.”
“That’s a lie.”
His jaw tightened.
“Don’t tell me what I care about.”
“Then go.”
He stared at me.
I nodded toward the elevators.
“Go home.”
He did not move.
“Tell eight thousand people Monday morning that the company was too humiliating to save.”
His eyes hardened.
“You don’t get to use them against me.”
“I’m not.”
“You just did.”
“I’m telling you what your choice costs.”
“You sound exactly like him.”
That stopped me.
Blake saw it.
“Yeah.”
He laughed bitterly.
“You hate that.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
We stood there while sleet ticked against the windows.
Finally, he said, “I remember the cake.”
My stomach tightened.
“Not now.”
“I remember it every time Mom says June’s name.”
I turned away.
“Blake.”
“I was drunk.”
“That doesn’t help.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because there isn’t a version where I don’t know.”
His voice cracked with frustration.
“I’d had three bourbons before I got there.”
“So?”
“So nothing.”
“Good.”
“I thought she’d laugh.”
“She was ten.”
“I know.”
I closed my eyes.
He breathed out slowly.
“I thought I was funny.”
“You weren’t.”
“No.”
I looked at him again.
He had aged five years in forty minutes.
“Why didn’t you apologize?”
He rubbed his thumb against the side of his index finger.
Dad did the same thing when he was calculating.
“I was going to.”
“When?”
“The next morning.”
“You texted me the next morning.”
“I wrote an apology first.”
I did not believe him.
He saw it.
“I deleted it.”
“Why?”
“Dad called.”
Of course he had.
“What did he say?”
“That if I apologized before you did, I’d make him look weak.”
I stared at him.
Blake laughed once, but there was nothing amused in it.
“He said you needed to learn there were consequences for disrespect.”
“And you listened.”
“Yes.”
There it was.
No excuse.
No revision.
He looked back through the glass toward the conference room.
“I always listened.”
I wanted that sentence not to matter.
It did.
I hated him for making it matter.
“That was still your choice.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“What else am I supposed to say?”
“I don’t know.”
He nodded.
“Neither do I.”
The elevator opened.
Two attorneys stepped out talking about lunch.
One complained about a reservation.
The other checked his phone.
They walked past us.
Blake waited until they were gone.
“Does June hate me?”
“Yes.”
His face tightened.
“She should.”
“Don’t use her to punish yourself.”
He looked surprised.
“I’m not protecting you.”
“I didn’t think you were.”
“Good.”
He looked toward the conference room again.
“What do you think I should do?”
I almost answered immediately.
Then I thought about all the times Dad had answered questions by making choices for other people.
“I think you should decide whether being CEO matters more than the company surviving.”
Blake looked at me for a long time.
“That’s not advice.”
“It’s the question.”
“What would you do?”
“I’m not CEO.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes.”
His mouth twitched.
For one second, we were teenagers again.
Then it disappeared.
He straightened his jacket.
“I hate you a little less than I did an hour ago.”
“Careful.”
“Don’t get sentimental.”
We went back inside.
My father looked up when Blake entered.
“Finished?”
“No.”
Blake sat down.
“But I’m staying.”
Evelyn nodded.
“Then we continue.”
The next hour was worse than the first.
Ardent wanted authority to approve major acquisitions, debt issuance, and executive compensation.
May you like
Blake objected to almost all of it.
My father objected to having any outsider chair the audit committee.
