It’s power. And it’s a cage. It’s the push and pull for me, the constant question of whether I want to be in this or separate myself completely from what he does.
“I’ll fix it,” I say. “I’ll call Iggy and meet him today. I’ll make sure he has the stipend.”
I hesitate, just long enough to register the familiarcalculation settling in. Whatever I thought before doesn’t matter.
“Exactly,” my father says. Not loud or angry. Settled.
“In the future, you don’t question my instructions. You carry them out exactly as instructed. That’s it. Do you understand?”
He straightens, adjusting his cufflinks again, each movement precise.
“Got it.”
His jaw tightens, and I recognize it immediately as restraint. He is so predictable to me, flying off the handle, yelling, and then reining it in when he’s finally satisfied I’ll do as I’m told.
I don’t answer him because I already have. We both know the message was received. His gaze flicks to the clock on the wall before returning to me.
“We’re done.”
The words press against my ribs, tight and heavy.
“Alrighty,” I say. My voice is steady, even if everything under it isn’t. “I’ll handle it.”
Silence stretches between us, both of us looking at each other, waiting for the other to flinch. I surrender and stand up, turning before he can say anything else. My hands are clenched, nails biting into my palms, as I head to leave.
I don’t bother closing the office door behind me. I’m several feet down the hall when I hear him talking to Émile. I slow down without thinking, stopping just short of the corner to hear what they’re saying.
“If Stone Intermodal starts pulling operations tighter at the terminals because of this,” he says to Émile calmly, “labor becomes the pressure point. They own the infrastructure. We manage the workforce that keeps it running. One way or another, we make sure the port still moves.”
There’s a pause, but no hesitation. Consideration.
Émile murmurs something I can’t quite make out. He rarely challenges him when he’s already made up his mind.
My stomach tightens.
I stay still for another second, my pulse loud in my ears, the words settling into place whether I want them to or not. Infrastructure. People. Pressure. It all clicks together too easily.
I step forward again before either of them can see me standing there, my heels clicking softly against the floor. I don’t look back.
By the time I reach the front door, one thing is clear in a way it wasn’t before.
This isn’t just about money.
And whatever my father is willing to do to keep control, he expects me to learn how to do it, too.
The sun cutsacross Jackson Square, catching on the brick path and the iron fence lining the park. Vendors are already setting up, hands busy hanging canvases as crowds of visitors start to grow.
Coffee and powdered sugar hang in the air as we cross the square. A saxophone drifts from somewhere near the street as someone warms up for the day.
The white spires of St. Louis Cathedral rise sharply, bright against the blue sky, watching over the vendors as they hang their wares along the fence.
Delphine bumps my shoulder as we walk. “You’ve been quiet for at least five minutes. That might be a record.”
I glance at her. “Just taking in the morning. It’s a beautiful fall morning, after all. I can’t believe Halloween is in three weeks.”
She smiles, knowing better. “Nice try. I know you weren’t thinking about the weather. You already met with your father this morning. I’m guessing this has something to do with that.”
I huff under my breath. “Yeah, you’re right. He isn’t my favorite way to start the day. He’s got me all twisted.”
