Nobody talked about why we were suddenly having family dinners every night when we used to be lucky to manage it twice a week. Nobody mentioned that we were all clinging to each other a little tighter these days, staying a little longer after each conversation ended. It was just another one of those unspoken things.
“So,” Brom said after swallowing a bite of food. “Sounds like the party is going to be packed.”
“We’re expecting at least a hundred,” Dad said. I heard the satisfaction in his voice. “That’s more than last year.”
“Word of mouth,” Stacy added, spooning green beans onto Alder’s plate despite his obvious reluctance. “The Hendersons from last weekend told their neighbors, who told their friends. Good news travels fast.”
I smiled, but my stomach twisted. Good news travels fast, but so does bad news. How long before people heard about the Bancroft offer? How long before our guests started asking questions about whether the lodge would still be here next Christmas?
CHAPTER 50
KENT
Isat in the leather chair across from my father’s massive mahogany desk, my hands resting on the manila folder that contained everything I’d prepared for this conversation. I had spent a week creating careful arguments that I hoped might change everything.
My father’s study was a temple to success and intimidation. Bookshelves lined three walls. The fourth wall was dominated by a window that looked out over the manicured grounds of the estate, though today the view was obscured by the kind of gray December sky that made everything look dark and unwelcoming.
The scent of cigar smoke permeated the air. He wasn’t smoking, but it was in the leather and the wood. The study was the place where my brothers and I often gathered before dinner. Good scotch and better cigars. It was part of our ritual. We could sit back and relax.
But there was nothing relaxing now.
I had been trying to sit down with him for days. I wasn’t sure if it was intentional or what, but he kept putting me off. He said his schedule was packed with year-end meetings, budgetreviews, and the kind of high-stakes negotiations that had built the Bancroft empire.
So much for him being retired. He was doing it wrong.
“Drink?” he asked.
“No thanks.”
I needed to be completely sober.
I had my ducks in a row. Every financial projection had been triple-checked. Every market analysis had been verified against multiple sources. I had spent nearly a week assembling what I hoped was an ironclad business case for why Bancroft Industries should reconsider its approach to the Northwood acquisition.
I hadn’t been able to talk to Austin like Hudson had suggested but I wasn’t sure it would have mattered. He didn’t return my call, which was a dick move, but part of me was relieved. Whatever wisdom Austin might have offered about standing up to our father was unlikely to really help. I needed to find my own way through this conversation. This was my battle to fight and my chance to prove that I could be the kind of man who did the right thing even when it was difficult.
“So,” Dad said, settling back in his chair. “You said this was about the Northwood property. I thought that deal was dead in the water.”
I opened the folder and slid a copy of the original acquisition offer across the desk to him. “It doesn’t have to be.”
“Yeah?” He glanced down at the papers, his expression unreadable. Dad had perfected the art of the poker face decades ago. I learned early in life that trying to read his thoughts was an exercise in futility. He was successful because he could read people, even his sons.
“I want to propose an alternative approach,” I continued, my voice far calmer than I felt. “Instead of acquiring the land for oil, we invest in Northwood Lodge as a hospitality business venture.”
I slid the next set of documents across the desk, my carefully prepared business plan for transforming Bancroft Industries’ relationship with the Northwood family from adversarial acquisition to collaborative partnership.
“The lodge has been operating for over a hundred years,” I explained as he reviewed the materials. “The farm itself has been there for centuries. The place has an established customer base, a sterling reputation, and enormous potential for growth. Rather than tearing it down to drill the land, we could help them expand their operations. Add luxury cabins, upgrade their facilities, develop it into a premier destination resort. Add a spa. Make it appealing to people from all walks of life.”
Dad’s eyes moved methodically down the page, taking in my financial projections and market analysis. I thought I saw something flicker in his expression. Interest, maybe. Or at least curiosity. I knew my proposal was a fraction of the money a petroleum operation would bring in, but it preserved the town. It was good publicity instead of the usual bullshit we got when we made these business moves.
“The numbers are solid,” I pressed on. “The tourism industry in the Adirondacks has been growing steadily for the past five years. People are looking for authentic experiences, places where they can disconnect from the digital world and reconnect with nature and family. Northwood Lodge already provides that. We’d just be helping them do it on a larger scale.”
He continued reading, his pen occasionally making notes in the margins. The silence stretched between us. I could feel my heartbeat in my neck. I was fighting for Sylvie. She might not believe me when I apologized, but I wanted to show her. Actions spoke louder than words.
Finally, he set the papers down and looked at me directly.
“What is this, Kent?”
The question caught me off guard. “It’s a business proposal. A different approach to the Northwood acquisition that?—”
