Page 52 of Price of Victory
The compassion in his voice was so unexpected, so completely opposite of what I’d been bracing myself for, that I almost started crying right there on the phone.
“Aren’t you going to…” I swallowed hard. “I don’t know, start buying shares? Make a move while their stock is down?”
There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and for a moment, I thought the call had dropped.
“That would be the right business decision, wouldn’t it?” I asked, hating myself for even suggesting it but needing to know where his head was.
“Perhaps,” Dad said slowly. “But it wouldn’t sit right with me, Rhett. We’re fine as we are. Do we really need more? You were right all along, son. Life’s easier when you’re not burdened by the ambition of infinite growth. I suppose we should sometimes make decisions against our interests, but for our principles.”
To someone else, it might have sounded like surrender. Like weakness or missed opportunity or poor business judgment. But to me, it sounded like the words of the most honorable man I’d ever known.
“I love you, Dad.”
The words came out before I could stop them, thick with emotion I hadn’t realized I was carrying. There was a moment of surprised silence on the other end, then my father’s warm laugh.
“I love you, too, Rhett. Your mother and I are so proud of you, you know that? Proud of the man you’ve become, proud of the choices you’re making.”
The tears came then, silent and unstoppable. When was the last time Aiden had heard words like that? Had his family ever told him they were proud of him for who he was, rather than what he could become for their business? Had anyone ever assured him that he was enough just as he was?
I thought about the pressure he must be under right now, the expectations and demands and carefully orchestrated public appearances. The way his mother had probably been calling nonstop, requiring his presence at press conferences and family meetings designed to project strength and unity.
Had anyone bothered to ask how he was holding up? Had anyone told him that his worth wasn’t tied to stock prices or shareholder confidence?
“Dad, I…” I started, then stopped, not sure what I wanted to say.
“Yes?”
But what was the point? I’d ended that relationship. I’d walked away because Aiden hadn’t trusted me, because he’d seen me as a potential threat instead of someone who wanted to help. There was nothing there to fight for.
Was there?
“Nothing. Just…thanks for being kind.”
Dad chuckled softly. “That’s what family does, son. We take care of each other, and we try to take care of others when we can.”
After we hung up, I sat in my room, staring at the wall and trying to process what I’d just learned. My family wasn’t going to take advantage of the Whitmore crisis. My father, the man who’d built a media empire from nothing, was choosing compassion over profit.
Meanwhile, I’d accused Aiden of seeing me as a corporate spy, of fishing for information he could use against my family. I’d assumed the worst of his motives when he’d simply been trying to protect me from something he saw as toxic and dangerous.
Had I made a mistake? Had I let my own insecurities and family history cloud my judgment about what he was actually trying to do?
The doubt crept in slowly, then all at once. Maybe he hadn’t been shutting me out because he didn’t trust me. Maybe he’d been trying to keep me separate from his family’s world because he knew how ugly it could get, how brutal the media attention and corporate maneuvering could be.
Maybe he’d been trying to protect me the same way I’d always tried to protect myself from the complications of my family’s wealth.
I shrugged on my jacket and headed out into the cool November evening, needing to walk and think and try to untangle the mess of emotions churning in my chest. The campus was quieter at night, most students settled into their rooms or the library, leaving the pathways mostly empty except for the occasional couple or late-night study group.
I walked without direction, letting my feet carry me wherever they wanted to go while my mind wrestled with questions I wasn’t sure I wanted to answer. Could you build a relationship without complete trust? Was it possible to love someone while still protecting yourself from them?
And more importantly, was what we’d had worth fighting for, even if it meant wading through months or years of complicated family dynamics and corporate politics?
When I finally pulled myself out of my thoughts, I realized I was standing in front of Aiden’s building. The doorman I’d met a few times nodded at me through the glass, recognizing me as someone who belonged there. But when I pressed the buzzer for Aiden’s apartment, there was no response.
I tried again, waiting longer this time, hoping maybe he was in the shower or had his headphones on. But the speaker remained silent, and after a few minutes, the doorman shook his head and mouthed “not home” through the glass.
Of course he wasn’t home. He was probably with his family, doing damage control and media management and all the things that came with being a Whitmore in crisis. He was probably sitting in some corporate conference room, listening to lawyers and publicists explain how to minimize the scandal’s impact on the company’s reputation.
Or maybe he was just avoiding his apartment because it reminded him of Sunday mornings and coffee and conversations that felt safe enough to get lost in and the lazy afternoons in his bed.
