Page 68 of The Write Midlife

His father glanced at the papers, then back at him, one eyebrow raised. "I see you've been going through my correspondence. I thought I taught you better than to snoop, son."

His calm demeanor only fueled Nate's anger. "Cut the shit, Dad. You've been actively working to sabotage everything we've been building. Why?"

His father sighed, pushing the papers aside. "Nathaniel, you need to understand. This... experiment of yours is putting the entire company at risk. I'm simply taking precautions."

Nate laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Precautions? Is that what you call going behind my back to the board? Trying to poach our own authors?"

"I'm protecting our interests," his father said, his voice taking on an edge. "This new approach of yours—it's idealistic nonsense. It might work for one book, one author, but it's not sustainable."

"You don't know that," Nate argued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "We've barely given it a chance. The early results with Melody's book are promising?—"

"Ah yes, Ms. Archer," his father interrupted, his lip curling slightly. "The author who seems to have clouded your judgment so thoroughly."

"Leave Melody out of this. This is about the future of Carlisle Publishing."

"Exactly," his father snapped, standing up. "The future of this company that I built from the ground up. And I won't stand by and watch you run it into the ground with your romantic notions of author empowerment."

Nate took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. “You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that? I mean, you've seen the enthusiasm from our authors, the buzz we're generating in the industry?—"

"Buzz doesn't pay the bills," his father cut him off. "I've humored this long enough. It's time to get back to what works."

Nate stared at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, he didn't see the titan of publishing he had always admired. He saw an old man, scared of change, clinging desperately to the past.

"No," Nate said, his voice quiet but firm.

His father blinked, clearly not expecting this. "Excuse me?"

"I said no. I won't go back to the old way of doing things. Not when we're on the verge of something great."

His father's face contorted into a mask of rage. “You don't have a choice, Nathaniel. I'm still the CEO of this company."

"Then maybe it's time for new leadership," Nate said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.

The silence that followed was deafening. His father stared at him, shock and anger warring on his face.

"Are you threatening me?" his father asked, his voice dangerously low.

"I'm telling you how it is. Either we move forward with this new approach, or..."

"Or what?"

Nate took a deep breath. "Or I walk. I'll leave Carlisle Publishing and start my own company. One that actually values its authors and isn't afraid of innovation."

His father laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You wouldn't dare. This company is your birthright, your legacy."

"A legacy I'm trying to protect and expand," Nate argued. "But if you can't see that, then maybe it's not the legacy I want."

They stood there, locked in a battle of wills. Years of unspoken resentments and expectations bubbled to the surface, making Nate's pulse pound.

Finally, his father spoke. "You're making a mistake, Nathaniel. A grave one."

"No, Dad. The mistake was thinking you'd ever be willing to change."

Nate turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob when his father's voice stopped him.

"If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."

Nate paused, the weight of his father's words settling on his shoulders. But then he thought of Melody, of all the authors counting on them, of the vision they were fighting for.