by Claire Adams
"Son, you're pushing the outer limits of my patience," my father said as his face turned pale. I'd brought up history that he thought he'd buried and even though he felt free to dig deep into my life, he didn't like it when the tables were turned.
"You're not the only one who uses information as currency in this family," I said pulling myself up to my full height as my father stood a foot away glowering at me. "And I would have thought you'd appreciate the fact that I am looking to build a new business and tap into new veins of profit. But I guess your ego and your ignorance drives most of what you do these days, don't they?"
"You are an absolute disgrace to this family," he growled. I could see him clenching his fists and I knew that I was dangerously close to provoking a physical outburst. As I stood silently, waiting to see where this would go, I breathed deeply and reassured myself that this time I would not end up on the losing end of a fight with him. After a long while, my father's rage seemed to recede a bit, and he spoke terse tone, "I don't know what made you want to pursue this ridiculous line of work, but I'll tell you something right now, son: If you and that friend of yours want to pursue this little fantasy, you have one month to do it. Then you'll come home and marry the Vasquez girl or you will be cut off from any and all financial support. I'm not allowing a dime of my money to go toward the business of putting me out of business or to the impudent action of disgracing this family. I am a business man and a man who believes in God; you are a good for nothing, ungrateful rebel without a cause, and I will have no difficulty cutting you out of everything."
I stood completely still, staring into my father's eyes as I thought about my response. I knew what I wanted to do and I knew what would happen if I chose it. I'd thought about this moment for years, and in all my fantasies about this type of showdown, I'd always imagined myself heroically throwing punches until I had weakened him to the point that I could slam him to the ground and put my boot on his throat as I demanded an apology for all the pain he'd caused. I imagined that I would scoff at his weakness and then walk away feeling vindicated. What I had not imagined was this: Standing face to face with my tormenter and realizing that he was nothing more than a frightened, old bully who had lost the ability to terrorize me with his mere presence. I felt my stomach begin to roil as I stared at the man who called himself my father.
"You're so damn ungrateful," my father muttered shaking his head in disgust, but I could see that he'd backed down and was not going to go any further than using words to try and wound me. "I don't know how we managed to raise a son that is so disloyal to and disrespectful of his family. You're pathetic and sad."
I could feel the blood rushing to my face as he read off the list of ways in which I'd disappointed him and my mother. I could feel the shame threatening to engulf me, but I didn't look away. Instead, I absorbed the bricks he threw knowing that I'd later use them to build an even stronger wall of defense. I knew my father was a predator who used words to weaken his prey, but in his rage, he seemed to forget that I'd had a lifetime of practice in deflecting his attacks.
"One month of freedom and then you come back and do as you're expected to or you will forfeit all inheritance rights and you will not receive a dime from me or your mother," he continued as he stood and circled me. For a moment, I wondered if he might actually be thinking about physically hurting me, but then he went in for the kill. "Think long and hard about this choice, son. If you choose this wind business over your family, it will be the last choice you make as a Wallace."
As he said this, an invisible thread broke. I'd spent a lifetime cowering and hiding from this man, and now I'd had enough of his bullying. I might find myself dirt poor after this encounter, but I was damn well going to make all the choices about my life. Because when I looked ahead, I saw that if I gave in now, I might have all the money in the world, but I'd never be free of my father. I'd spend the rest of my life groveling on my knees as I did his bidding. I swallowed hard and made my decision.
"Well, since you put it that way," I said as a smile spread across my lips, but did not reach my eyes. "I'll pack my things and be out of my apartment by morning."
My father's eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. He drew a deep breath, and as a cruel grin spread across his own lips, said, "No, you'll take what you've got right now. Everything else is mine. Now get the hell out of my sight. You have one month to make your decision. If you're not back and engaged to that girl, then you'll be out for good. Oh, and you're fired."
I opened my mouth to argue that this wasn't fair, and then quickly closed it and simply nodded. I smiled, shrugged, and said, "You can't fire me. I quit," then turned and calmly walked out the door.
As I walked past the front desk, Kimber called, "Have a good day, Mr. Wa—Adam!"
"Kimber," I said quietly as I stopped and turned to face her. "If you're smart, you'll get out while you still can."
A look of confusion crossed her unlined face, and then she smiled brightly and said, "Thanks for the advice, but I'm happy here."
"It's your funeral," I muttered as I turned and walked out the door.
Chapter Three
Grace
It was still dark when the shrill sound of the phone cut through the silence and into my sleep. I groped around the nightstand searching for the source of the noise, knowing that it was likely to be Mike looking for a spreadsheet, client file, or a tax form that he'd misplaced. I'd often jokingly threatened to turn off my phone's ringer when I went to bed, but I never did. And Mike knew I wouldn't.
"Mmm hmm, Mike, what's up?" I said trying to sound more awake than I felt. When my greeting was met with silence, I swore quietly. "Dammit, prank calls at four in the morning are not cool!"
"Grace?" a timid voice said on the other end. "Grace, are you there?"
"Verity?" I said quickly sitting up and snapping on the bedside lamp. "What's going on? It's four in the morning; why are you calling?"
"Oh Grace, come...come...come home!" she cried and then dissolved into sobs before she could say anything else.
"Verity, what is going on?" I asked as I felt the panic rising in my chest. There were very few reasons my younger sister would have ventured out of the house to call me at this hour and not many of them would be related to good news.
"Grace, it's Mamm and Dat," she sobbed. "There's been an accident! Come home!"
"Verity, what happened?" I said as dread took the place of panic. I climbed out of bed and walked down the hallway to the kitchen where I held the phone between my shoulder and ear as I began measuring the water to make a pot of strong coffee. The familiar routine calmed my nerves and I knew it was likely that I was going to need the coffee.
I could picture my sister, in her plain, brown dress, shawl, and starched white kapp, standing in the phone booth at the end of the road as she made the call. The sun would be edging its way up into the sky, but the fields would still be dark and peaceful for another half hour or so.
"Grace, their buggy was hit by a truck," Verity choked out before dissolving into sobs.
"It's okay, sweetie," I said trying to calm her enough to get the story. "It's okay, Verity. I'm here. Just tell me what's happening."
"Grace, Mamm and Dat are dead!" she sobbed. "You have to come home!"
I gasped, and then as she cried, I stood next to the sink holding the empty coffee pot in my hand trying to absorb the news. The moment that the dreadful news registered, the glass pot slipped out of my hand and shattered in the sink.
"Dammit!" I shouted as I reached down to gather the jagged pieces of glass and a sharp edge sliced through my skin.
"Grace!" Verity scolded through her tears. I ignored the admonition as I ran cold water over my finger and waited for the bleeding to stop.
"Are you sure it's Mamm and Dat?" I asked trying to stave off the reality for a few minutes more. As long as I didn't acknowledge what my sister was saying, then my parents were still alive. "I mean, there are lots of buggies traveling the roads down there. Ar
e you sure?"
"Yes, Grace," Verity cried. "It's them. It's their buggy and Jacob had to put Toby down because the impact broke his two front legs. It's them, Grace. Please come home."
"Where are Hope and Faith?" I asked.
My next two younger sisters were both married and had families of their own. They lived with their husband's families as they waited for their turn to build a house of their own.
"Hope went to the morgue with Jacob, and Faith is at home with Honor and Danny," she said calmer now, but still crying. "What are we going to do, Grace?"
"Don't worry, I'll come home," I said as I set the coffee pot aside and began quickly mapping out a plan in my head. "I'll take care of everything and be home by tonight."
"Hurry, Grace," Verity said quietly. "We need you here."
"Don't worry, I'll be there by supper time," I said as I gripped the phone tightly. I wanted to keep my sister on the phone, but I knew she would be needed at the house. "Verity, go back and take care of Honor and Danny while the others take care of Mamm and Dat. I'll pack up and leave as soon as I can. If you need me, call, okay?"
"Okay, I will," she said sounding a little calmer than when the call had started. She was silent for a moment, and then whispered, "How are we going to get through this, Grace?"
"Like we always do," I answered confidently. "Like a family. I love you, and I'll see you at supper."
"I love you, too, Grace," she said before the line went dead.
I stood staring at the phone for a long time trying to process the conversation. My parents were dead. I would never see Mamm standing at the counter rolling out a piecrust or hoeing a row in the garden so she could plant beans. I'd never see Dat walking through the door after a long day in the fields, smiling as he looked at Mamm and telling her how it was her evening meal that was all that had kept him working. I sank to the floor and pulled my knees to my chest as I let out an anguished cry and then sobbed like a child.
Chapter Four
Adam
The enormity of my decision didn't hit me until I walked out on to Dearborn Street and realized I no longer had my father's resources at my disposal. There would be no more car service to transport me around the city. No more credit cards whose bills were sent to my father's accountant for payment. No more access to his personal airplane or any of the other benefits I'd enjoyed as the son of a wealthy, Chicago oil magnate.
I quickly walked the few blocks to the building where I had lived since returning from the East Coast. I had been living rent-free in a penthouse apartment in one of my father's buildings off Dearborn, but it had always felt more like a hotel than a home. The interior was all glass and white leather, punctuated by pieces of modern art that I found overrated. Still, living downtown had had its perks, one of which was that the penthouse wasn't more than a few hundred yards from any one of many bars where beautiful young women perched on barstools were easily enticed to join me in my master suite. There wasn't much I'd miss about the apartment, but this, this I would miss.
Thinking that my father's threats about me leaving with nothing but the clothes on my back were probably somewhat empty threats designed to get me to back down, I headed into the building. I wanted to pack a few things before meeting with Bugsy so that we could plan our next steps and get moving. Striding through the lobby of the building, I was stopped by Jimmy, the doorman and front desk clerk. He was accompanied by a large security guard with a holster conspicuously strapped to his side.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace," Jimmy said with a look of genuine regret. "But I can't let you go up to your apartment. You're barred from the premises."
"Don't be ridiculous, Jimmy," I said flashing both him and the guard a friendly smile. "Surely I can have a few minutes to pack some things, can't I?"
"I'm sorry," Jimmy said as he shook his head. "By order of the owner, who also happens to be my boss, you're not allowed on the premises anymore."
"This is insane," I said as I turned and headed for the elevator. I'd known my father was angry, but I hadn't realized he was going to crack down this quickly. "My father is just throwing a temper tantrum. I'm sure that once it dies down he'll have no problem with me packing up the few things I own and moving them out."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Wallace," Jimmy nervously repeated. He looked and sounded like someone who was being watched. "You are not allowed on the premises."
"This is utter bullshit!" I hissed. "You can't legally bar me from collecting my own things."
Jimmy shrugged and then nodded at the security guard, whose neck was wider then my waist. The guard moved in front of me, blocking my access to the elevator as he pointed toward the front door without saying anything. When I didn't move, he shifted one hand to the holster at his side and in a deep voice said, "Do not test me, Mr. Wallace."
"This is despicable," I muttered as I tried to make an end run around him. Without saying a word, the guard grabbed my arm and quickly yanked me across the lobby to the front door where he firmly shoved me out onto the sidewalk. I stumbled a bit as I tried to maintain my balance, and then turned to look at the two men who stood in the doorway of the building.
"Wouldn't come back if I were you," the guard said before letting the door slowly swing closed.
"Bullshit!" I screamed at the glass doors. "You have no idea what you've just done! You people are going to hear from my lawyers!"
I stormed down the street to a bar on the corner where I ordered a drink and tried to calm myself down. I picked a corner table and sat down to try and figure out exactly where I stood. I made a quick list of the things I no longer had access to, and then made a list of the things that were still at my disposal.
I had a cell phone in my own name and a bank account I'd started my freshman year in college in which I'd stashed enough money that, if I was frugal, would keep me afloat for a few months. I knew Bugsy could probably figure out a way to make the money we'd generated for our startup last long enough to make a sale, but that wasn't a sure thing. One thing I knew for certain was that I was not going to return and marry some woman I'd never met simply because it would help my father close a business deal. That much I was certain of.
Once I'd laid things out in a concrete fashion, I could see that it would be a challenge, but not impossible to move forward. However, there was one more thing I needed to take care of before I headed over to Bugsy's.
I dialed my mother's phone number and wasn't surprised when she didn't pick up. She was a professional socialite who spent her days planning benefits for her multiple charities and maintaining her biggest asset—herself. I knew it was highly likely that she was at, or on her way to, her favorite spa in the Loop, so I headed over to find her.
She was just entering the lobby when I arrived. I watched her stride across the marble floor of the lobby in her Chanel summer suit and black stiletto heels.
"Mother!" I called. She didn't turn around. I quickly covered the distance between us as I asked, "Mother, are you still speaking to me?"
"Adam, you are my son and I love you, but your father is right," she said in an icy tone. "We cannot abide disloyalty in this family. Why won't you marry Veronica? She's a beautiful girl and she'll make a lovely wife for you."
"Wow, he got to you fast, didn't he?" I said marveling at the way in which my parents quickly solidified their bond against outsiders. This wasn't new to me; I'd seen them do this time and again when they'd felt betrayed by friends or family members, but I'd reassured myself time and time again that they'd never do it to their own son. "Mother, I don't love Veronica. I don't even know her!"
"What did you expect?" she said coolly looking me over. My mother was a beautiful woman, but her beauty was the brittle kind. It was designed to intimidate and, as a result, keep people at a distance. "Besides, love is overrated."
"Mother, we have a good idea and a great product," I said. I wanted to explain the idea to her, but I knew it would most likely be futile. My mother rarely thought about anyone but my father and herself. "It
's not like I'm selling family secrets to the competition! I'm just doing what I feel is the right thing."
"Yes, well, that's all relative, isn't it?" she said coolly. "Adam, you need to realize that you come from a family that prizes loyalty and service to God and to the family first. You have put your individual needs above those of the family and the business, and that is unacceptable. You will marry Veronica or you will be dead to us."
"That's ironic coming from you," I retorted. "You're telling me that no one in this family has ever done anything that went against what the family demanded? You and Father didn't exactly follow the rules, did you?"
"Don't get smart with me, young man," my mother hissed as she raised a crimson, lacquer-tipped finger in front of my face. Her anger was palpable. And then she inhaled deeply, dropped her hand and said calmly, "Of course you can choose to do other things, just not this other thing."
"That seems incredibly hypocritical given the fact that Father did not follow in his father's footsteps and married you," I said instantly regretting what I'd said as I felt the sting of my mother's hand connecting with my cheek.
"You will honor your father and mother!" she raged for a brief second before the mask was quickly put back in place. I stood staring at her fighting the urge to raise my hand to my cheek. She hissed through gritted teeth, "I won't tolerate this disrespect from my own son. You either toe the line and come back to the family, or you go your own way, but don't expect any sympathy or assistance from me if you choose the latter."
"Wow, you really are an ice queen, aren't you?" I said aiming at her wall of defense, and firing off what weak rounds I had.
"You have no idea," she said as a cruel smile lifted the edges of her lips as I felt a shiver run down my spine.