I blink. The hands clasped behind my back start to sweat. It’s not new that he threatens me with money.
“Your summer of recklessness is costing you that nice apartment under my name. You want to keep messing around? You’ll pay for it.”
My instinct is to flinch. I expected him to react negatively. My “summer of recklessness,” as he calls it, would be classified as a normal summer by a normal parent. But it defied what his plans were and cost him more money than he thinks my happiness is worth. A millionaire, e-commerce CEO doesn’t need to pinch pennies, but it’s not really about the money, I’ve learned.
When it comes to his threats, I know his tell. He’ll tap his foot twice before spewing some claim meant to give him the upper hand.
His foot hasn’t so much as twitched since I walked in. And when it comes to his threats towardsme, andmypunishments, I can’t remember him ever bluffing.
I gulp down the nerves and force out in a monotoned voice, “My apartment?”
“I’m having movers pack your things now, but once everything arrives at your new arrangements, you can deal with that hassle yourself.”
The hassle of manual labor?
If I wasn’t so terrified of random people invading my space and touching my personal belongings, I’d laugh. Dad isn’t above making that happen on purpose. I bit the inside of my cheek and hope he’s notthatangry.
“Where do…” His glare is pointed, and I tense my jaw. “Where would I stay if not at my apartment? I have school, sir.”
“Do you think I’m dumb?”
Yes. I’m too terrified to say that either.
“Of course not, sir.”
“You’ll stay at the dorms, with all…” His nose scrunches. “Those people.”
I almost scrunch my nose too. It’s nauseating to think of my father and how he looks down on anyone who can’t match his tax bracket.
Sometimes I wonder what happened in his life to make him so detached with humanity. If we had a real father-son bond, maybe I would ask him.
We stand in silence while the words sink in. I don’t particularly like the thought of living in the dorms. Being in an engineering program—especially one as highly regarded as Brookstone University’s—means it’s filled with students who seem to care more about money than the craft.
Ones who read the badly written business and industry magazines that sing my father’s praises. People who would actually recognize me for being a CEO’s son, like that makes me some kind of notable figure.
My muscles tense and I hold myself back from wriggling.
Dad shouldn’t have been able to get me a dorm barely two weeks until the fall semester starts. I’m sure our last name made it happen.
Once again, I fall into being Keller McCarthy’s privileged son, and nothing else.
“You move in two days from now. If your attitude hasn’t improved by the end of the school term, and you haven’t shown me you’re serious about being my son, you can stay that way. Permanently cut off.”
Out of maybe the hundreds of times my father has punished me, permanent was never a word he used. He’s taken away money, sent embarrassing rumors to spotty news outlets, and created a social pariah out of me at school before. Months at a time, maybe, a punishment would last, but never a threat of forever.
His arms stay crossed while his words cut down any courage I had to talk back. The air gets sucked out of the room. I allow myself the tiny release of fidgeting with my glasses for only a second.
I glance at his foot. Still.
“Do you understand what I’m saying, Locke?”
Spine straight. Shoulders back. Chin up. Forcing myself to stare back at him and pretend the anxiety in my chest won’t overwhelm me later tonight.
“Yes, sir.”
After he scolds me, again, for being so “careless” with my summer months, my father tells me to leave my VK Corp responsibilities behind and leave. In the space of my car, leather interior reminding me of our family’s financial comfort, I scold myself.
For acting out of line and not preparing for the backlash. For getting so far on his bad side, he might remove me from his lifepermanently. For hoping, even for a second, he’d take pity on his son.
