The Family Business

“Thank you, sir.” I worked to rid my voice of any evidence of nervousness. I wanted to make sure I spoke clearly and articulately. After all, I was speaking to the head of my fiancée’s family—not just any old family, but one of the most prominent and wealthy black families in the city. LC Duncan and Duncan Motors stood for strength, power, and respect. They were so well known that my boss at the law firm was begging me to set up a meeting. He wanted Duncan Motors as a client. So, I had multiple reasons to want to impress LC, although I had a sense already that he was not an easy man to impress. If I was ever going to fit in—to be like one of the family—I knew I’d have to work overtime in order to do it. Now was the time to start proving that no matter what my last name was, I could be a Duncan.

“But when you get to be my age, you understand that women are funny about certain things—especially money. My daughter is no exception to this rule, probably because I spoil her and give her anything she wants. So, I have to ask you.” He took his hands off the steering wheel and turned to me. “Harris, are you going to be able to keep my child in the lifestyle she’s accustomed to?”

Now, I hadn’t been expecting the conversation to go in this direction, but I’d done enough job interviews in my life to know how to give an answer on the fly. “Well, sir, as you know, I’m an associate at Brask and Williams. The managing partner says I’m on track to be a partner one day, but to be honest, that’s some years down the road. With that being said, I still make a nice salary for my age, and, well, London seems to be okay with that.” I thought my answer was fine, one that would satisfy any future father-in-law, but like I said, LC Duncan wasn’t easy to impress.

He laughed as he reached for his car door and opened it. “So, as her husband, you’re not going to mind if she comes to me for money?”

I got out, and we stared at each other across the roof of the car. “Sir, with all due respect, that’s not going to happen. London and I—”

He cut me off. “Harris, how much do you make over at Brask and Williams? Sixty, maybe seventy grand?”

I nodded. “Something in that neighborhood.”

“You’re right. That’s not bad for a man your age. But did you know that Mercedes coupe London drives cost almost double what you make in a year?”

LC Duncan was no joke. I could feel my ego shrinking by the moment, and he managed to do it all with a smile on his face. “No, sir, I didn’t know the price of her car.”

“Did you know that London’s credit card bill was a little over five grand last month?”

All I could do was shake my head.

“I didn’t think so.” Apparently tired of humiliating me, he turned his attention to the Crown Fried Chicken in front of us.

I wasn’t done with the conversation, though. Whatever kind of a test this was, I couldn’t let him insult me like that without defending myself. Shit, I was pretty damn successful for a guy my age. Any father should be glad to have me marry his daughter. LC needed to understand that while he might have spoiled London, he had to accept the fact that I was going to be the man in her life soon.

“Mr. Duncan, you don’t have to worry. We’ll make do. London may have to cut back on some things, but we’re happy, and that’s all that matters for us. We’re gonna make it.”

“I see. Well, I guess you’ve got everything all figured out, don’t you?”

“Yeah, we’re happy, we’re in love, and we’re going to have everything our hearts desire in just a few years, when I make partner.” I was trying to stand my ground, but I was starting to realize how hollow my words must have sounded to this powerful man. I was losing all self-esteem, and LC’s continued smirk told me he thought the whole thing was pretty funny.

“You hungry?” he asked, still staring at the chicken joint. “You look hungry.”

“I guess I am a little hungry.” I shrugged, feeling defeated.

He leaned in and said seriously, “Be a lot hungry, and stay hungry. That’s the only way you’re going to be able to provide for my daughter. That’s how you’re going to be able to get the house, the cars, the clothes, and all the things that are going to keep her happy. Being happy right now doesn’t mean shit. It’s staying happy that’s a muthafuck.” On that note, he started walking toward the chicken spot. He shouted over his shoulder at me, “Let’s go.”

What the fuck was that? was all I could ask myself as I headed toward the entrance.

Carl Weber with Eric Pete's books