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“Give your notice,” says my father, frowning. “Pack your things and move them. Why is this an issue?”
“It’s an issue because I’m not doing it.” I take a deep breath to keep from yelling at him. Christ, it’s only noon. This is going to be a long day. “I appreciate what Grandfather was trying to do—”
“No, I don’t think you do.” Grandmother cuts me off without effort. “Your family needs you, Weston. Thorpe Industries needs you. You will do your duty by us, young man, or suffer the consequences.”
“I’m almost thirty years old,” I mutter, the young man part chafing. Grandmother sniffs. “And what consequence are you talking about, exactly? Let’s be clear here. Going to disinherit me? Again? Last time I checked, you can’t be disinherited twice over.”
My grandmother’s face goes tight and my father scowls. They clearly didn’t expect me to spell it out. Tough. I’m not playing this game, and I tell them so.
“I’m not doing this,” I say. “I’m sorry for the company’s financial troubles, but you’re going to have to talk to my siblings about that. Or hire somebody new. I’m not doing it.”
“You’re legally bound to fulfill the terms of the will,” says my father.
A decent lawyer could contest my grandfather’s provisions until all of us are dead and gone, but my father likely already knows that. And there’s a simpler way out.
“Another partner or partners could buy me out,” I counter. “I’ll call Beth today. We make a clean break, and you can hire somebody to manage the division.” It’s been a while since I heard from my siblings, though, which makes me think this is going to take longer than I’d like.
“You’re certainly welcome to try,” says my grandmother gravely. “But I think you’ll soon find that Thorpe Industries is where you need to be.”
“Unlikely,” I say, unable to stop the sneer this time. “Have you forgotten why you cut me off the first time?”
“Enough,” says my father loudly. “There’s no need to rehash old arguments.”
“You’re nearly thirty,” says my grandmother, throwing my words back at me. “You’re an adult now.”
“And nothing has changed,” I say, standing up to face them. “If my bisexuality was a problem for you before—”
“Your choices are yours to make,” says my father, still too loud, his face turning red.
“And while you’re at the helm of the family business I’ll thank you to keep your personal life to yourself,” says my grandmother through clenched teeth.
I can feel my blood pressure rising.
“Let me make sure I’ve got this right,” I say after a tense, silent moment. “As long as I stay in the closet, you’re going to let me take over Thorpe Industries.”
“The retail arm of the business, yes,” says my grandmother. “Your personal life is, frankly, of no interest to me, but if the wrong person found out…”
The long-standing conservative Thorpe family empire would certainly collapse if it got out that I date both men and women. Right. That had been the message I got loud and clear at eighteen when they caught me in the pool house with another guy. If I hadn’t already been leaving for college a couple of weeks later, I think they’d have kicked me out immediately.
“What’s in it for me?”
They look confused again.
“What do you mean?” says my father.
“What’s in it for me?” I say again, gripping the back of the chair so I don’t start throwing things. “You’re asking me to abandon a successful career, not to mention the entire life I’ve spent the last decade building. What for?”
“A generous salary, for starters,” says Grandmother. The triumph on her face is clear. As far as she’s concerned, the rest of the conversation is just haggling. “You can stay in this apartment, if you wish, or the company will put you up in one of the homes we keep for the executives when they travel.”
“There’s an allowance, in addition to your salary,” adds my father. He goes on, rambling about expense accounts and credit cards, practically vibrating with relief that we’re no longer talking about my sexual preferences. His fury over catching me with a guy had been second only to my grandfather’s.
“I’m not talking about money.” I sip the coffee, letting it scald my throat. The pain distracts me enough from my anger, which I need in order to think this through. Can I possibly be considering this? I don’t owe them anything. Nothing.
Except, some part of me still thinks I do. College at Loyola and the internship at a prestigious financial firm after would never have happened without the Thorpe name behind me. And the money, of course. Always the money.
I spent the last ten years building a life that guarantees I’ll never need their money again. But it never would have happened if they hadn’t paved—paid—my way to start.
My father’s not bright enough to exploit that fact, but Grandmother’s smarter than all of us put together.
