Page 48 of Unlocking Melodies

"I was wrong," he admitted quietly. "When I came to campus that day, I was so focused on what the board would think, on protecting the company's image, that I forgot to see what was right in front of me - how happy he makes you."

He smoothed the program carefully. "That's why we came to your showcase that night. Your mother and I watched you perform together, saw how beautifully you played. How perfectly you complemented each other."

My world tilted slightly. The program's date stared up at me – the night everything changed. "But you were supposed to be in Tokyo. The merger..."

"I moved the meetings." He smiled slightly at my shock. "Your mother insisted. Said some things were more important than business." His expression turned wistful. "She was right, of course. She usually is."

"But the board members..."

"Were concerned about potential scandal, yes." He sighed, looking suddenly older. "I should have made it clearer that their opinions weren't mine. Should have told you that watching you play with Jimmy that night was the happiest we'd seen you in years."

I stared at the program, remembering that night – the music we'd created, the joy we'd shared, the fear that had driven me to walk away. "You never said anything."

"No, I didn't. One of many mistakes." He traced the program's edge. "I thought I was protecting you from the board's prejudices by staying silent. Instead, I made you think you had to choose between your happiness and your heritage."

I tried to process this revision of my carefully constructed narrative – my parents at the showcase, my mother tracking Jimmy's career, my father carrying a program that represented everything I thought he'd disapproved of.

“The property acquisitions,” I started.

“Are meant to protect his work here, not destroy it.” My father set his coffee down. “The board's old guard is finally gone. It's time to rebuild some bridges. Starting with the one I helped burn eight years ago.”

Outside, Mrs. Henderson's surveillance team had given up all pretense of subtlety. Several of them were openly taking notes. Riley had apparently requisitioned the diner's patio furniture for a better view.

“They care about him,” my father observed. “This whole town does.”

“Yes.”

“Good.” He stood, straightening his loosened tie. “Then they'll understand why Cole's new cultural development initiative is choosing Oakwood Grove for its pilot program. Focusing on youth music education and community arts preservation.”

I stared at him. “You're not here to shut down Jimmy's programs.”

“No.” His smile was genuine. “I'm here to fund them. Properly this time, without letting other people's prejudices get in the way.” He squeezed my shoulder – a gesture so unexpected it left me speechless. “Some endings do need rewriting, son. Even mine.”

“Jimmy came to see me, you know. Just before the attack.”

The words hit like a corporate ambush, casual and devastating. My father watched my reaction over his coffee cup with the same careful attention he usually reserved for acquisition targets.

“He was looking into investment opportunities for local music venues,” he continued. “Trying to create a network of independent spaces. Rather brilliant business model, actually.”

I tried to process this information through what felt like static in my brain. “Jimmy worked with you?”

“He never told you because he thought you'd try to protect him from me.” Harrison's smile held an irony that made my chest tight. “Just like you never told me about him because you thought you were protecting him. You Cole men and your defense mechanisms.”

The door chimed before I could respond. Jimmy walked in for his shift, stopping short when he saw us. The moment crystallized – Jimmy looking between Harrison Cole and his son, a flicker of something crossing his face that wasn't quite recognition but wasn't quite nothing either.

To my complete surprise, my father stood and said simply, “It's good to see you recovering, Jimmy. That business model of yours is still sound, whenever you're ready.”

Jimmy's polite confusion – the same expression he'd given me that first day back – seemed to pain my father almost as much as it did me. “Thank you, Mr. Cole,” he replied with that careful distance that felt wrong in every possible way. “Though I'm afraid I don't remember the business model you're referring to.”

As Jimmy headed to the back office, Harrison sighed. “You know, he refused to take investment money directly from Cole Industries. Said he needed to do it his own way.” He gave me a pointed look. “Reminded me of someone else I know.”

“Dad...”

“Let's step outside.” He left a tip that probably made Sarah's week and led the way to the street, where Mrs. Henderson's surveillance team had evolved into what appeared to be a full town meeting.

“I'm not here to cause trouble, Ethan.” He watched Jimmy through the window with an expression I'd never seen on his face before. “When I heard about the attack, about his memory loss... I wanted to make sure you were both okay.”

The simple admission rocked my carefully constructed worldview. “The board–“

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