Chapter 16 - The Return of the Architect
The air inside the kitchen felt charged, as if lightning had struck the roof.
Fiona looked from the security agent to Dad, completely stunned.
"You have a private security division?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.
Dad took a sip of his black coffee, setting the porcelain mug down without a sound.
"I gave up the corporate title, Thomas.
I never gave up the equity firm that held the international distribution rights."
He walked over to his bedroom door.
"Give me ten minutes."
When the door opened again, the man who stepped out took my breath away.
The faded thermal shirt, the oil-stained denim, and the battered work boots were gone.
Dad wore a bespoke charcoal-gray three-piece suit made of heavy English wool.
It was cut to perfection, fitting his broad, rugged frame like armor.
His hair was combed back with precision.
On his wrist was a vintage Patek Philippe watch with an alligator leather strap—a watch that cost more than my entire four-year college tuition.
He didn't look like a mechanic who fixed tractors in the backwoods.
He looked like an ancient titan of American industry who had stepped down from Mount Olympus to remind mortals what real power looked like.
Fiona stood frozen, her eyes wide.
"Edward..." she whispered.
"You looked like this when my grandfather had your portrait hung in the main lobby."
"Charles took that portrait down thirty-four years ago," Dad said smoothly, adjusting his silver cufflinks.
"Today, we put it back up."
He turned to me.
"Thomas.
Get dressed.
Put on the suit we bought for the wedding."
"Dad, they ruined that wedding," I said.
"No," Dad replied, his voice firm and steady.
"They attempted to humiliate us.
Now we are going to show them the difference between wealth that is inherited and power that is earned."
He looked at Fiona.
"You don't have to come, daughter.
If you want to stay here where it's safe, George and Michael will stand guard at the fence."
Fiona set her coffee cup down.
She stood up straight, wiping away the remnants of her tears.
Her chin tilted up, carrying the regal posture of her heritage, but stripped of all its shallow cruelty.
"I'm your daughter-in-law, Edward," she said clearly.
"My father made a mockery of my vows.
I want to be there when the bill comes due."
Dad looked at her for a long moment.
A rare, approving smile touched the corners of his eyes.
May you like
"Good," Dad said.
"Let's go to work."
