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Of course, he did. Walt Whitmore makes it his mission to know everything that occurs on his turf. His sources probably had him dialed in before I even stormed back here.
“I need to know you're keeping our vision secured, son. Whitmore Tech stands for innovation and excellence. We can't forget that chasing flashy trends.”
I nod crisply. “Of course, the core vision remains unchanged. But Ms. Emerson's input about expanding visibility for younger demographics seems to be valid. Especially with our product expansion into virtual reality.”
He considers me with a stern eye before cracking the barest hint of a smile. “Well, we’ll see how well that software line will do. I don’t have high expectations. But you did finance the pilot from your private funds, so I’ll reserve my judgment of your pet project for now.”
I release a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. Making Dad proud has annoyingly remained a driving force well into adulthood. After defiantly enlisting against his wishes years ago, part of me still wants to prove that I can create the proud legacy he expects here, too.
Which is why his next words land like an anvil. “As the new leader of this enterprise, you’re accountable for Whitmore’s future. And I think it’s time you started investing into your own.” He pauses, and I know what’s coming. “This firm needs a solid image with an heir on the way, and I expect you to deliver it.”
My jaw clenches so hard, it's a wonder my teeth don't crack.
Not this again.
I bite my tongue so hard I taste blood. I should know better than to hope Walt will ever understand why his golden boy turned his back on the gilded path carved out for him since birth.
He crosses his arms, face clouding with that ever-present disappointment he has perfected since the day I broke the news I was enlisting as a Navy SEAL.
“I groomed you as my protégé from boyhood for this company,” he grumbles bitterly. “You were set to inherit my empire. Then you threw it all aside to go fight in some far-off countries.” He pauses, looking me up and down judgmentally. “Now if you want to take over, I want to see you settled down. A wife and a child that will continue my legacy into the future. “
Each word is a blow to my bruised psyche. But I straighten against the verbal assault.
“I was fighting in far-off lands, but it was for our country. Your country too,” I bite out. “I needed to find my own path to serve something bigger than myself or Whitmore Tech. The service shaped me into who I am. Please accept that.”
Dad scoffs. “And who is that? A haunted shell of a man bearing unseen scars from months held captive behind enemy lines. Is that the glorious hero's journey you were seeking? What did they even do to you?”
I flinch as phantom pains from torture sessions flare. Marc and Cade are the only ones who know what we endured. The memories lurk no matter how deeply I bury them. Sleep remains elusive most nights even now, months later and safe at home.
Maybe Walt has a point. Maybe I am too damaged now to rule an empire. But that can't dull the conviction behind my choices, no matter how much he disparages them.
“A wife will soothe your scars,” he pronounces with an air of finality. “Children will ground you. I expect an engagement announcement by the shareholders meeting next quarter. Then Whitmore is yours.”
I seethe silently as he stalks out, confident as always he has secured the outcome he demanded.
5
JEALOUS JITTERS
I roll my shoulders, trying to loosen the tension that always seems to take hold after another round of verbal spars with the old man.
Being dressed down by him about legacies and duties makes me miss the clarity of military life. Out in the field, you know the mission and do what you have to.
Though his expectation is straightforward enough.
Get married and have a kid.
There is no mincing of words, no double meanings.
But finding a wife and fathering a child on this short of a notice?
Frustrated, I brush off my father’s foolishness. It’s true I need the backing of a tech giant like Whitmore to pursue the frontier of virtual reality application in medicine.
But will he really remove me as the CEO if I don’t deliver by the end of the year? If he does, I will find another way to pursue the VR program. With Whitmore, it will be easier. Without Whitmore, it will still be possible.
It’s only eleven in the morning. Either I need a change of scenery or a scotch.
On instinct, I grab my keys off the sleek desktop. Maybe I'll find some clarity of mind uptown with Marc. We went through hell and back together. With him, things are uncomplicated. The brotherhood of having stared down death never fades.
