Page 2 of Our Broken Pieces
I sit waiting in our conference room, laptop and reports ready. I pull out my phone and see a text from Gigi. She sent me a picture of her coffee, probably some sort of caramel sugar bomb, along with “Rise and shine, prince.” She sent it at 8:15. I had already been up for four hours at that point. I’m not the best sleeper, then add in what I know Monday brings and I might get a solid three hours. I send back a text, telling her good morning, then silence and pocket my phone.
I raise my black coffee to my mouth and get a sip in before my father walks into the room. I stand, and he goes to his seat at the end of the table next to mine. No ‘good morning’, no ‘hello, son’. Not that I expected it.
William Marcus Holt is CEO of Holt Contracting, a company that my grandfather started in 1968. My grandfather handed the business down to my father in the 90s, and now I’m being primed to take it over from him. Holt Contracting is a general contracting company that supplies materials, labor, and any other service needed in construction projects. During the time it’s been in business, we’ve gained the trust of the Boston community and now oversee multi-million dollar projects that range from remodels to new builds.
My latest project has been to set up our expansion offices an hour south in Providence. It’s been my father’s goal to see the company expand into other cities, and he’s making it happen. So, I’ve secured office space, a skeleton staff to open the doors with, and started to prospect projects within the community.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Son.” He opens his laptop. “Do you have the updated bid spreadsheet?”
“Sharing it now. We’re at a sixty-eight percent win rate, but I believe we’re at a good point to get up and running. I would suggest we have the offices set up by the beginning of next month and have projects started by the fifteenth. We’re ready.”
I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished with the Providence office. I feel good about the staff I’ve chosen. We’ve won enough contracts to recoup the expenses of the finish out and new gear for the teams within the first three months. I’m basically handing my father exactly what he asked for, under his financial and timeline requirements.
I sit quietly as he scans the document I sent him. My heart rate picks up like it always does when I want his approval or when I’m nervous for his feedback. It’s like I’m ten again, handing him my report card.
“Everything looks good. Give the go ahead to open the offices and start the contracted projects. Keep an eye on the consistency of new projects coming in and don’t let it drop off.”
“Will do.” I feel relief wash over me. He used the word ‘good’ and from him, that’s a big compliment.
He closes his laptop and leans back in his chair. “There’s one more thing we need to talk about this morning.”
I open a new Notes file and get ready to hear his new demand. “All ears.”
“We talked a while back about you settling down, finding someone to commit to. I haven’t heard you talk about anyone lately.”
Months ago, my father said I should think about trying to meet someone, that people respect a family man, that being a bachelor can be distracting. I recall how angry I was after that meeting. He can demand all he wants from me in my professional life, but he’s never been concerned about my personal life. It felt like an intrusion, like he was trying to inch his control into every single corner of my life.
“What are you getting at, Dad?” I look him directly in the eyes.
“I feel like you’re at the point that you’re ready to take over the company, Marcus. You’ve shown your commitment to its success, and the team likes you. They say you’re fair and calm. But—”
There’s the fucking ‘but’ I was waiting for.
“I want your personal life to reflect that same sense of commitment. Your mother was always a huge help for me. Someone to come home to on rough days, someone to occupy the other wives at dinners and functions so I could close business, someone to give me children, specifically you, to carry on our legacy.”
I hate the way he talks about Mom. Like she was only there to do a job. No talk of how, when I was growing up, she wouldtake care of him when he was drunk, how she would clean up the messes he created when he would come home angry after losing a big contract, how she took care of me or my brother when he took his anger out on us. How she lied to us about the yelling we heard from their bedroom some nights. Just how she helped present a shiny image to his buddies and business partners. Anger pumps through my veins.
“That’s why I’m going to hand over the business to you on your wedding day. It will be my gift to you and your future wife.”
I narrowed my eyes at him from my seat. My blood is heated. I feel the frustration rising up in my chest.
“You’re serious?”
“Very.”
“All due respect, Dad, but I’ve exceeded your expectations on every single thing you’ve asked of me over the past six years, even if you won’t say it, because God forbid you offer me any praise. I’m more than good with giving you free rein over my goals during business hours, but you don’t have the right to tell me what I need to do in my personal life.”
“Do you want the CEO position?”
I pause, because I’ve never really wanted it. It’s just what’s been expected of me.
“It’s the Holt name on the doors. I intend to carry that on.”
“Then it will be yours when you’re married.”
“Dad—”
