Page 100 of Pride and Privilege

“Dad…”

“It’s not a choice, Roscoe. You don’t get to run away from your responsibilities just because the work is hard and you are soft. I refuse to let this company pass out of the family. You will step up.”

“Dad… Sit down, please.”

“Every conversation we’ve had for years. Every plan we have made—”

“Calm down, OK? I’ll get a glass of water.”

He went to the sideboard, picked up a glass with shaking fingers. The jug spilled drops on the polished wood. They looked like tears.

“If I stay,” he began, his back to the room, water glass motionless in his hand. “If I stay… I want off the tax project.”

“We can talk about that.” His father’s voice was suddenly soft, coaxing, sensing victory.

“No—”

“Whatever accommodations you need. Sit down, Ross. Sit down and talk to me. I’m your father. I can help.”

Roscoe didn’t move. One hand still held the glass. The other was splayed on the sideboard, his fingers pale against the wood, knuckles stiff and white.

“Come, Ross.”

He closed his eyes. If he stayed, it wouldn’t end. Whatever adjustments his father promised, they would be temporary, a crutch to get him over this unfortunate little blip. As though his mental health was a twisted ankle. But if he left… If he left…

The door opened. Roscoe looked up. Poppy stood there. He heard his father mutter something, but he wasn’t reallylistening, only saw Poppy, her face pale but determined. She walked to him. Handed something to him. It was a letter, folded.

“I thought you might need this.”

He opened it.

I hereby tender my notice of resignation, effective immediately…

His resignation letter. She really had written it for him.

He met her eyes, felt the press of her hand on his arm. “Remember,” she whispered. “The man you are is better.”

The conversation they’d had when she first came to his mews house. He had told her about his anxiety. About how he had spent twenty years trying to be the man his father wanted.“Maybe,”Poppy had said,“the man you are is better than the one your father wants you to be.”

“Thank you,” he said.

She smiled. “I’ll be waiting across the street with the Dodge file. If you decide you need it.”

His decision, she was saying. Not,“Do this,”but,“You can, if you want to.”It had to be his decision. It wouldn’t work any other way.

She left. He turned back to his father who eyed the sheet in his hand with a sneer. “Let me guess, love letters?”

“Of a kind,” said Roscoe.

He didn’t know what leaving BlacktonGold would do to his father. But he knew what staying would do to him. And something else was clear.

“If I want to be your son,” he said. “If I want to have any kind of relationship with you in the future, then I can’t work here.”

His father stiffened. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Roscoe walked to his father’s desk and picked up a pen. He signed his name and handed the letter to his father.

FORTY-SEVEN

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