"You’re going to work."
I laughed. "Work? At the company? Dad, you fired me from the mailroom when I was nineteen because I reorganized the filing system by 'vibes'."
"You're going to Jameson Ranch," he said pulling me out of spiralling.
I blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"
"A ranch in Oklahoma. You leave in the morning."
"You're sending me to a ranch? Like, with cows and shit? Actual shit?" I stood up, anger cutting through the champagne fog. "You can't be serious."
"I've never been more serious in my life. You'll spend the summer there. And if you come back the same, don't come back at all."
"This is insane! I'm an adult! Is this Dr Phil?
"Dexter Jameson. You remember him?"
"Pops? Yeah, of course. From when I was a kid."
"He needs help on his ranch. He broke his knee last year, he’s recovering, and he’s short-staffed. I spoke to him tonight. You leave in the morning."
"A ranch," I repeated. "You want me... Beau Sterling... to go work on a ranch."
"Yes. Manual labor. Early mornings. Dirt. And if you leave? If you quit? If you get fired? You are cut off forever. No inheritance. No safety net. Nothing. And I’ll also cut your discretionary funding for those charities you like to pretend you care about."
Low blow. I actually did care about my charities. They were the only thing I did that wasn't complete garbage.
"Why?" The word came out smaller than I intended. "Why are you doing this?"
For a moment, just a moment, something softened in his expression. "Because I've watched you self-destruct for six years, and I'm done. Because your mother cries every time your name trends on Twitter. Because you're capable of more than this, and I'm tired of watching you waste it." He picked up an envelope from the side table. "Dexter's expecting you. Harrison will drive you there at seven AM."
“Let's see how long you last without the Sterling name protecting you."
We stared at each other, and I realized with startling clarity that he wasn't bluffing. For the first time in my life, I'd pushed too far.
"A ranch," I said quietly. "With chickens?"
"Lots of chickens."
"You know I'm terrified of chickens."
"I know."
He looked at me, and for the first time, I didn't see the anger. I saw exhaustion.
"I can't defend you anymore, Beau. You have to grow up. And you clearly aren't going to do it here."
"But... my stuff. My life."
"Harrison has already packed a bag for you. It’s in the car."
"Wait. Now? I’m leavingnow?"
"Harrison is waiting."
My father turned his back on me. "Goodbye, Beau."
***
