“I’m sure you already have a long list of changes to make,” my father said, “starting with that COO. You’ve got to clean house by removing opposition.”
“Actually, there’s more.” I cleared the bitterness from my throat. “I’m sharing the role with the former COO.” Mason frowned, and I briefly regretted not telling him last night at the gym.
“What?” My father’s grip loosened.
“It’s a ninety-day trial period. A competition, if you will. Though I’m confident I’ll beat her out.”
His steel-gray eyebrows lifted. “Is this about diversity?” His carrying voice lowered on the last word as if it were obscene. And maybe it was, here in the dining room with its white diners and mostly brown serving staff.
“Possibly.” Ned had hinted at that. But he’d also mentioned her long tenure. “Bridget’s been at the company for years. They may have felt they owed it to her for her loyalty.”
My father returned to his seat. I sank into my chair and tossed back the pungent whisky. The ice did little to dilute the scotch’s bite.
“Ninety days?” Mason asked. “I suppose you have a plan?”
“Of course I do,” I said. “I’m working on a big deal. I’ll start strong so she’ll be in reaction mode. She won’t have the time or focus to launch her initiatives.”
My father lifted his glass. “Excellent plan.”
“Now that you’re CEO,” my mother said, “you should send Caitlyn to St. Marcellin. I’m so embarrassed when I have to tell people she goes to a public school.”
I didn’t give a shit about her embarrassment, but fond memories of my school days drifted into my mind. I’d made lifelong friendships at the private school every Campion man had attended since my grandfather, and now it was coed. I caught my brother’s eye. “You think Caitlyn’s got what it takes to be a Marcellin man like we were?”
“Of course she does,” he said. “She’s half yours.”
“We love it,” Sheila said. “The boys are thriving there.”
“She’ll never get into Harvard from that mediocre public school,” my father said. “She needs the advantages of St. Marcellin to succeed.”
I couldn’t imagine living without the privilege that had opened the world to me. I certainly didn’t want an ordinary life for my daughter. “You’re right.”
“What do you think Zara will say?” Sheila asked.
I grimaced. My ex-wife was a staunch believer in public schools, and since she had primary custody, she sent our daughter to her neighborhood school. It was fine for regular kids, but it was no St. Marcellin. Caitlyn would never meet afuture CEO, senator, or ambassador there like Mason and I had. “She won’t be a fan.”
“They don’t have a bus service. It’ll be inconvenient for her to get Cait there from Walnut Creek,” Sheila said. “I don’t know how the mothers who work do it.” She curled her manicured fingers around her wineglass, clinking her diamond-encrusted wedding ring against the crystal.
“If you had primary custody, you wouldn’t have to worry about it,” my mother said. “St. Marcellin has a residential option. Caitlyn could live at St. Marcellin, and it would be convenient for everyone.”
Zara would hate the thought of Cait going to a private boarding school, but it would certainly be convenient. She could see Caitlyn on the weekends and school holidays, like I did now. Perhaps if I had primary custody, Zara would have the time to advance in her job as an industrial designer, and she and Eli could afford to move closer to the city—and St. Marcellin’s campus.
Everyone would be better off, especially Caitlyn. She was so smart, with a glowing report card every quarter. About once a month, she beat me at the daily game of Mathlon we played. Even at a better school, she’d be a star. And she’d grow into her full, extraordinary potential.
“At St. Marcellin, Caitlyn will be a winner like us.” I nodded at Mason. “I’ll talk to Zara about it.”
“No doubt.” Sheila leaned back as the server set her dinner in front of her. “Just don’t expect Zara to be happy about giving up custody.”
I was certain she’d fight me on it. “Eventually, she’ll see reason.”
“Sure, she will,” Sheila said. “Like she saw reason about your eighty-hour work week schedule and lack of emotional support.”
I frowned at the swordfish the server set in front of me. I hated swordfish. “She wants what’s best for Caitlyn. I’m sure I can convince her that St. Marcellin will give Cait the advantage she needs to compete in a cutthroat world.”
“That’s the spirit, son.” My father beamed at the swordfish on his plate. “Campions are winners. You’ll win this one too.”
That was one thing I could agree with my father on.
Two days later, on Friday, I rocked up to Zara’s door. I was still in my suit, full of that winning spirit as my black Porsche 911 idled at the curb.
