Page 32 of The Betrayer
“You heard me. You think you have all the answers, but you don’t. You’re still a kid and have a lot to learn about life and running this business.” He flicked his hand in a dismissive gesture that was almost more infuriating than what he’d said.
For a moment, all I could do was blink. I’d done a lot of that the past few days, but it seemed like my father’s hubris knew no bounds. My gaze flicked over my father’s shoulder to the wall of windows that served as my office wall. The door was closed, and no one seemed to be watching. Which was good because I had a feeling this was going to get ugly.
“Are you kidding me with this? Are you trying to tell me I’m not running the company well? Who took it from bringing in millions to billions? But more than that, do you remember what was happening when I took over?”
“We were fine,” my father replied truculently. “A million-dollar company isn’t exactly anything to scoff at.”
“No, but a company in shambles because of poor leadership is.”
There, I’d said the words. It looked like they had shut my father up for once. This time, it was his turn to stare at me, expression incredulous.
“The company was a mess when I came in because of your management. You say I have something to learn? I’m sure I already did—I learned what not to do, thanks to you. Which means you have me to thank for saving the company. I turned it around, I took it public, and it’s because of my leadership we are where we are today.”
I glared at my father, daring him to challenge me. It was a known fact, at least among the executives here, that the business had been floundering before my father made me COO. Sure, my father had been able to bring in more investors, so the numbers looked good, but within the actual business, he had been losing money at an alarming rate. Employee morale had been low, work had been slapdash, and turnover had been high.
I came in and changed all of that, shifting everything from our business model to producers down the line. I left no stone unturned and weeded out the chaff. If I had a heavy hand sometimes, it was because that was what it took to keep the business running smoothly—you couldn’t be a friend to everyone, no matter what my father believed. Now I had an executive team I could trust to run what I couldn’t, to pick up the slack where they had talent and I didn’t. I didn’t have to micromanage because I trusted the people under me, something that hadn’t been true at the beginning.
Had everyone made fun of me at first because I had a business degree but little experience? Had they claimed nepotism that would destroy the company? Yes. But I had shown them, and with money lining their pockets, they weren’t laughing anymore.
The fact that my father didn’t see any of this was beyond infuriating.
“The company wasn’t a mess. Just because I ran things differently than you doesn’t mean I didn’t know how to run a business.” My father narrowed his eyes, daring me to contradict him.
“You know how to build a company, Dad. You know how to draw in investors in a way I will never be able to. But running a company is different.”
“Might I remind you that the business wouldn’t be here without me?”
Throughout our argument, my father’s expression had gone from annoyed to heated and which was an unusual sight between us.
The truth was, my father and I hadn’t done a lot of anything growing up. We hadn’t been close—it was impossible when he wasn’t often there. Our relationship had consisted mainly of small talk, questions about how my life was going, quiet family dinners before my parents divorced, and dinner with my nanny or in front of the TV afterward when I wasn’t with my mom. As I’d grown older, our conversations had centered around the company and business in general, which had seen us develop a closer bond as my interest grew and my father taught me what he knew.
Arguments had been few and far between, but only because I hadn’t felt comfortable enough with the man to disagree with him or share my opinion in any contradictory fashion. As I’d grown older, I had gained enough sense to know that arguing with my father wouldn’t get me anywhere—he felt he was always right, always knew better. Instead, I found ways to get around him or do what I wanted anyway.
There had always been a part of me, a large part of me, that believed my father knew best. Even if he hadn’t been a finalist for the father-of-the-year award, I felt that even if I didn’t understand why he was doing something, he had a good reason, and it would work out in the end.
Time and experience as COO had disabused me of that notion. I’d seen too much over the past six years to continue to believe my father knew what was best. Did he have strengths? Absolutely. But he had weaknesses, too, and blind spots—many blind spots and many weaknesses.
When I graduated and joined the company, MBA in hand and an intense need to learn everything I possibly could from my successful father, there were nights when I was too excited to sleep. I was that excited about learning more about my father’s business. Instead of finding a sparkling home, I’d found a fixer-upper with cracks in the foundation that were beginning to widen and drag the rest of the structure down. It was a shock to find company in such disrepair, thanks in a large part to my father’s management. For a time, my entire world had felt flipped upside down, and I had felt like I was in some strange mirror universe where nothing I previously believed was true.
I quickly realized my belief that my father could do no wrong was a fallacy of childhood. The revelation, seeing what was happening behind the scenes at the company, was eye-opening, not just about running a business but about the man at the top of the company.
It took me several years and endless hours of work, but I took what I had and turned the company around. Had it been like turning an ocean liner? Yes. But I did it, and I did it in record time before achieving the dream my father never had quite been able to achieve—enough stable growth and promise of more for an initial public offering that nearly broke records.
It turned out my father might have had the idea to build a business and the charm to bring in top investors, but he didn’t have a head for truly running a company. That was my gift. I saw things he didn’t, understood what he didn’t, knew how to reach new audiences and market sectors, and how to create processes so the entire thing worked seamlessly.
And yet, here we were, my father standing in front of me with the gall to remind me he was the one who started the company, that he was still my boss, and to hint that I didn’t know how to handle the company I had been running successfully for six years. There was also the vague threat that I was replaceable. This wasn’t just any old boss—it was my father. It was as though he had conveniently forgotten or actively ignored everything I had done. Now that I knew who he truly was and, more importantly, who I was, I was done holding my tongue.
“And you seem to forget that you probably wouldn’t have a company if it weren’t for me,” I shot back. “But you don’t want to think about that, do you? You never want to deal with the hard things—you want to be ‘nice’ and believe everything is going smoothly when it isn’t, so you don’t have to deal with things when in reality they aren’t.”
“What the hell are you talking about, Paul?” my father demanded. His color was rising, and eyes the same green hazel as mine flashed angrily. Apart from Friday night, I had never seen him with his hackles raised so high.
I also didn’t care.
“Because you were too nice to people here, Dad. You never wanted to deal with underperforming managers or someone screwing around on the job. So you let it all slide until the business was run by people who didn’t respect you and didn’t do their jobs. I was the one who had to fire them all to get things straightened out. And never mind about your marriage.”
My father’s eyes widened for a moment. “Excuse me? My marriage? What happened between your mother and me has absolutely nothing to do with—”
“It has everything to do with it. You just don’t want to admit it.”
