Not our money: theirs. We were protected, of course. Limited liability, legal loopholes, a million different ways for my family’s lawyers to say fuck you. Hard-working people lost everything, their pensions, their savings, even their homes, while my parents sailed through it all, unharmed. We kept the big house, and the cars, and the vacation home by the lake. He never paid a dime in compensation either. Sure, they tried to press charges, but the court case collapsed on the second day of the trial.
He walked, scot free. And I vowed I would never live another day off the dirty money from all those people’s despair. I cut them off, took out loans to finish college, and turned my back on the shame of my family’s greed. You would figure maybe that would make my father wake up to what he’d done, but you’d be wrong. He started a new company, raked in the money again, and a few years later, it was like nothing ever happened. I get those checks from the family trust every month, and I send them on, to the people who lost everything to him.
It’s not enough to pay my family’s debt to them, but it’s all I can do.
The waiting room’s empty, except for the fancy and uncomfortable chairs that wait for visitors.
“Emmett Gardner, please?” I ask the no-nonsense nurse at the front desk.
“2167.”
I nod in appreciation and head in the direction she’s pointed. Outside room 2167, I stop and take a deep breath. This is it. Get in, make sure he’s not dead, and get out. I shove open the door and freeze. The room is large and spacious, my mother sitting by the bed.
There’s dear old Dad, sitting up, reading the paper, eating—and complaining—about the lunch they’ve served him.
No tubes.
Barely an IV.
What the hell?
My panic fades – replaced with anger. If it weren’t for the paper-thin hospital gown he’s wearing, he could be lounging by the pool at the country club. Mom sits next to him, perfect in her sweater set and pearls. She spots me as I try to back out of the room without a word, and she rises, coming after me.
I turn away but she grabs me and pulls me in for a bone thin hug. Whatever diet she’s mainlining this month isn’t doing her any favors.
“Do not make a scene, Cassius. You will not embarrass us here,” she whispers.
“You told me he was dying. He’s fine. I don’t need to be here.”
“No, I told you he had a heart attack, and he did. I didn’t know what to do, Cassius.”
“Mom —”
“You think it’s just about you and him? My family is split apart. I worry about you night and day, and then your father just drops. I didn’t know if he’d make it. I needed you. Is it so wrong that I needed my son? To know that the two most important men in my life are safe?”
“Do not play this crap with me. You could have picked up the phone anytime. I didn’t stop you. This is just your way to force my hand.”
“The doctors say it could happen again. Do you want to go through the rest of your life hating yourself for not fixing this stupid rift? Let it go, Cassius.”
“Stupid? Mom, people lost everything.”
“And we did, too,” she sniffs.
I clench my jaw and try to remain calm. “Last time I checked, your bank account was just fine.” But my comment rolls right off her.
“You’ve never known pain until you’ve had someone you love walk out on you—and you miss the chance to make up with them. Someday you might, but I hope you never have to live with that regret. Talk to him before you miss your chance. It’s time to put the past behind us.” I have half a mind just to keep walking and never look back. That’s been my way of dealing with it since the beginning. Once I realized what he was really like, I wanted to be nothing like my father. Nothing like the man who lost millions of other people’s money and then saved everything for himself. He ruined lives, and what’s worse, he has no remorse.
My mother opens the door, returning to the room, and giving me a stern look that I remember well from my childhood. It’s the look she gave me when I got into my first fight. When I tried to quit baseball. When I wanted her to convince Dad to give those people back what was rightfully theirs. It was a look that said ‘do not disappoint me.’ Backing down is not an option.
My father doesn’t look up from the paper when I sit in the chair beside his bed. He finishes going over the stock reports before he gives me his attention. All these years, and those reports are still more important to him than his kids. Than anything or anyone else.
“Cassius.”
“It’s just Cash, Dad.”
“Ah. I see you’re still on that kick. Pour me some water.”
I do, even though I’m gritting my teeth the entire time. Mom looks on approvingly. “Yep, still on that kick.” I pass him the plastic cup, and he drinks.
Dad leans back and pauses.
“And you’re still working as a bartender?”
Are we really having this argument again? The muscles in my neck tighten. “Is there something wrong with earning an honest wage?”
“Just because something is honest doesn’t mean you’re not meant for better things,” he says disdainfully. “You were top of your class at school, you have a good mind for business, and this fantasy you have about being ‘of the people’ is a waste of your talents and breeding.”