As the evening progresses and the spiked eggnog flows, I find myself relaxing for the first time in days. It’s all overwhelming—the community, the collaboration, the sense that we’re all working toward something meaningful together. This feeling has been absent from my life for far too long.
My phone, which I’ve reluctantly turned back on, starts ringing again. My father’s number.
“Answer it,” Eliza says firmly. She’s been quietly helping with plant photography, but now she’s watching me with that fierce expression I recognize from the barn. “Tell him what you told me about choosing your own path.”
“Reed, this is ridiculous,” Esther says. “You’re clearly passionate about this work, and you’re good at it. Why would you give that up for some corporate job you don’t want?”
I look around at the transformed space—at my friends and Eliza’s sisters working together to support something they see I believe in, at the trees that represent months of careful research I’ve loved.
“You’re right,” I say, answering the phone.
“Finally. Son, we need to discuss this contract situation. Your mother says you’re still playing with plants instead of focusing on your future.”
“I am focusing on my future. Just not the one you planned for me.”
Silence on the other end for a beat. “Reed, be reasonable. This hobby isn’t a career path you can raise a family with.”
“It’s not a hobby. It’s a business, and it’s mine.”
“What’s your plan to survive when the money runs out?”
“Honestly, Dad, I don’t know. And that’s okay. I have a lot of resources.”
He snorts. “A lot less if I cut you off at the purse, kid. We had a deal, you and I.”
Around me, my friends and the Storm sisters have gone quiet, listening to a conversation years in the making.
“Your grandfather would be ashamed,” my father says.
“Maybe. And you’re right that you and Mom have given me a really strong start in this life, but it’s time I used it how I want. I hope you’ll be with me as I chase my own dreams.”
The silence stretches so long I think he’s hung up. Then, his gruff voice filters through. “We’ll discuss this later.”
“No, we won’t. I’m declining the Nicholas Industries position. Permanently.”
I hang up to cheers and applause from my impromptu support crew. Eliza immediately hands me a cup of spiked eggnog, and Vick claps me on the back hard enough to spill it.
“To Reed Nicholas,” Kash announces, raising his cup, “for finally growing a backbone.”
“To Urban Forest Solutions,” Eliza counters, “and to taking risks for the right reasons.”
We toast, and I feel lighter than I have in months. Whatever happens tomorrow night, at least I’m facing it as myself instead of as my father’s disappointing son.
My phone buzzes with an email notification. Probably my parents sending me articles about failed entrepreneurs or statistics about business failure rates.
Instead, it’s from Jennifer Martinez at North Shore Capital.
Mr. Nicholas,
I sincerely apologize for the short notice, but I’ve come down with the flu and will not be able to attend tomorrow evening’s event. Perhaps we could schedule a meeting for after the holidays?
Best regards,
Jennifer Martinez
I read the email twice, then set my phone down carefully.
“What is it?” Eliza asks, noting my expression and rubbing my arm.
