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“For me,” I said, moving the laptop back in front of me. “If a motivated person came up with a cool menu that had the right vibe, I think it’d be a moneymaker.”
“You don’t cook Vietnamese, son,” he argued, gesturing toward the screen. “I mean, you’re a great cook, but Vietnamese?”
I shook my head in displeasure. “I wouldn’t serve Vietnamese, Pops. I’d repaint the rig and design a new logo for what I would sell.”
Dad pulled the laptop back to him, once again sliding his glasses down his nose and squinting his eyes. He touched the lower corner of the screen. “Eighty-grand, Chad. Did you see the price?” I glanced at the screen as a courtesy and then at him before shrugging my shoulders like I had zero worries in the world. “And where do you assume you’ll find eighty grand?” he asked.
“More like ninety, maybe even ninety-five,” I corrected. “Because there’ll also be the paint job, redesigned graphics, new menu boards, inside and out,” I stated. “But the entire kitchen and exhaust hoods inside are new, so that should about cover it.”
“And?” he asked. “The money part? What about that?”
“That’s where you come in, Pops.”
Dad was already shaking his head no. “Mom and I paid for your college education, Chad. We didn’t say business loans were included afterward.”
“Then why’d I get a business degree?” I asked. “Seems to go hand in hand, dontcha think?”
My father looked like I’d asked him for a kidney. “But…”
I interrupted him. “But why a food truck, you ask?”
“Well, yeah. Why that?” he asked, motioning to the image on my laptop, a sneer of disgust on his face. “I was thinking more of a CEO-type thing when we educated you, son. Not this… this… food truck?” He stared at me in disbelief. “Really?” he added.
I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “I’ll be my own CEO, Dad. I’m not corporate like you. My vibe is mellower. I want to experience the world, not sit at a desk all day,” I declared. “That type of life would harsh my light,” I added.
“Nearly a hundred grand should harsh your light, son, and I don’t see Mom and I supporting this enterprise,” he said.
We stared at one another like we were in a Western movie standoff. He didn’t budge. I didn’t look away. The only thing missing were the guns. I’d hoped he’d be excited about my idea, or at least want to encourage me with a little financial support in the guise of a loan. I was a good cook, and food truck fare is kept simple so you can sell large quantities and keep costs down. I knew I could be successful.
“I need a career, Dad. I want to do this and I think I can,” I insisted.
“I’m sure you can do anything you set your mind to, but it’s a no from me and Mom.”
“Mom?” I asked, exaggeratingly looking around the room. “I don’t see Mom. Can we at least include her in this idea by asking her opinion?”
“She’ll agree with me on this, Chad.”
“Well, Pops. I was hoping to cut you in as an investor, but I do have another option,” I revealed.
“And who is that?”
“Myself,” I said. His brows furrowed in confusion. “I have my trust from Grandma. I don’t know the exact amount that’s in it but, it should be a start. And I’m over twenty-one now, and after speaking with Harold Willis yesterday, it’s mine to do with as I see fit.”
“You called my attorney yesterday, Chad?” he asked, looking stunned that I’d gone behind his back. “Harold can’t… Harold shouldn’t…”
“I hired him as well, Pops. He also represents me and my financial interests now.”
I swore I could see smoke coming out of his ears. “I will not… he cannot…” Dad muttered, suddenly losing his mind. “No fucking way Harold Willis accepted you as a client,” he stated, raising his voice in frustration. “My attorney? The Harold Willis on Beach Drive?”
“Sure is,” I confirmed. “What’s the big deal, Pops?”
My father took his glasses off and gave me a stern look. “Not a goddamned chance, son.”
Just when things were getting heated between me and my father, Mom walked in.
“I heard you two all the way out in the driveway,” she said, turning to Dad. “And, Alex, honey, what’s with the swear words?”
Dad turned to her, throwing his arms in the air before motioning to me. “Our son has lost his God-forsaking mind, Maggie,” he cried. “Thinks he’s accessing his trust fund to buy a food truck. He suddenly fancies himself a business owner. He thinks he’s hired Harold Willis.”
