"I didn't have a choice," Z said quietly, finally meeting my eyes. "Your dad—he pays my salary, Beau."
"Enough." Dad's voice cut through like a blade. "Z did what I asked. This isn't about loyalty, Beau. It's about legacy. And now..." He moved back to his desk, pulling out a thick manila folder. "Now it's time to discuss the next step."
"Next step?" I was still reeling. "You manipulated everything—the articles, the pressure, the 'heart scare'—"
"The heart scare was real," Mom interjected softly. "Beau, your father's stress levels have been dangerous. That happened."
"It's an opportunity," Dad said, ignoring her. He opened the folder. "Sit down, Beau. We need to talk about the ranch."
Every instinct screamed at me to walk out. But something in his tone—something cold and calculated—made me freeze.
"What about the ranch?" My voice was ice.
Dad slid the folder across the desk toward me. "Take a look."
I stepped forward, opening the folder.
Financial records. Jameson Ranch financial records.
Mortgage statements—three months overdue. Equipment loans in default. Property tax notices marked urgent. And there, in a separate section flagged with a sticky note: medical bills. Osage County Hospital. For Pops.
Knee replacement surgery: $28,450Status: SENT TO COLLECTIONS. PROPERTY LIEN PENDING.
The folder slipped from my hands, papers scattering across the desk.
"How..." My voice was barely a whisper. "These are private records—"
"I did my due diligence," Dad said calmly. "Dexter Jameson is drowning. Has been for years. That lien goes through, the bank can seize property. They could lose everything."
The room was spinning. Pops' limp. Winnie patching equipment instead of replacing it. The haunted look in her eyes when she thought about money.
"Why are you showing me this?"
"Because I'm going to make you an offer." Dad closed the folder. "A deal that solves everything."
"What kind of deal?"
"Come back to Dallas. To Sterling Industries. Not as the irresponsible heir playing at having a job—as a real executive. Shadow me. Learn the business. Prove to the investors that the Sterling legacy is secure." He paused. "Do that, and I'll take care of the ranch."
"Take care of—"
"All of it. Every debt. The mortgage, the loans, Pops' medical bills—paid in full. And I'll establish a trust fund. One million dollars, managed properly, to modernize the operation. New irrigation, new equipment. Hire staff so Winnie isn't working herself to death and Pops can actually retire."
One million dollars.
The number hung in the air, impossible and tempting and poisonous all at once.
"You want to buy me back," I said flatly. "With Winnie's ranch."
"I want tosavethe ranch," Dad corrected. "And give you a purpose beyond playing cowboy. This is a win for everyone. Winnie gets security. Pops gets to keep his land. Sterling Industries gets its heir back."
"And what do I lose?" My voice was shaking now. "Oklahoma? Winnie?"
"Who says you lose her?" Mom spoke up, moving to stand beside Dad. "You'd still see her. Visit on weekends, holidays. She'd have everything she needs—no more stress, no more fear of losing the ranch. You could give her that, Beau. Security."
"While I'm in Dallas, wearing suits, sitting in boardrooms, becoming him." I looked at my father, seeing the trap fully now. "That's the trade. My life for theirs."
"And if I say no?"
