Chapter Nineteen
967 Words
Lucas was bored.
Very bored.
Billionaire mansions looked exciting in movies.
In reality?
They were mostly quiet.
Very clean.
Very expensive.
And suspiciously lacking in snacks.
Lucas wandered into the kitchen.
Margaret looked up.
“What are you doing?”
“Hunting.”
“For?”
“Food.”
Margaret laughed.
“Top cabinet.”
Lucas opened it.
Protein bars.
Almonds.
Green tea.
Protein powder.
He closed it.
“Oh.”
“Mr. Blackwood eats like he’s preparing for war.”
Margaret nodded.
“He probably is.”
Lucas sighed dramatically.
“I miss Pancake Sundays.”
Margaret smiled.
“So do I.”
“Amelia talks about them a lot.”
Lucas softened.
“She misses home.”
“She misses Mom.”
“She misses Dad.”
“She misses being twenty instead of forty.”
Margaret chuckled.
“She’s twenty-four.”
“Exactly.”
“Forty emotionally.”
A voice interrupted.
“That’s oddly accurate.”
Lucas turned.
Ethan stood near the doorway.
Suit jacket draped over his arm.
Car keys in hand.
Coffee.
Always coffee.
Lucas grinned.
“Google Batman.”
Ethan sighed.
“We really need to retire that nickname.”
“No.”
“It’s iconic.”
Ethan shook his head.
“Fair.”
Lucas looked curious.
“Where are you going?”
“Work.”
“Oh.”
“Boring.”
Ethan smirked.
“Depends.”
“Do you want to see how a billionaire spends a Tuesday?”
Lucas sat upright.
“Absolutely.”
Margaret looked horrified.
“Oh no.”
Ethan raised an eyebrow.
“What?”
“You’re encouraging him.”
“He’s a teenager.”
“He’s curious.”
“He’s Lucas.”
“Exactly.”
Margaret pointed.
“If he steals a company, I’m blaming you.”
Lucas gasped.
“Margaret!”
“I’d steal a yacht.”
“Not a company.”
Thirty minutes later.
Lucas sat inside Ethan’s black Aston Martin.
Wide-eyed.
Silent.
For exactly two minutes.
Then—
“How much does this cost?”
Ethan smiled.
“A lot.”
“Specific.”
“Avoids awkwardness.”
Lucas laughed.
“I like rich people.”
“They’re mysterious.”
“We’re not.”
“You literally own a building.”
“It’s leased.”
Lucas looked outside.
“Oh.”
“Humble billionaire.”
“Interesting.”
Blackwood Technologies occupied twenty floors.
Glass.
Steel.
Minimalist design.
People moved quickly.
Confidently.
Purposefully.
Lucas looked around.
“Nobody smiles.”
“They smile.”
“Internally.”
“No.”
“They look terrified.”
“They respect deadlines.”
“They fear you.”
“They fear unemployment.”
Lucas laughed.
Employees greeted Ethan.
Morning, Mr. Blackwood.
Morning, Ethan.
Morning, Sir.
Lucas whispered.
“They definitely fear you.”
Ethan chuckled.
“I have excellent dental insurance.”
“Ah.”
“Fear with benefits.”
Ethan took Lucas into his office.
Floor-to-ceiling windows.
City views.
Books.
Awards.
Photographs.
Lucas noticed one thing.
No family pictures.
No vacations.
No birthdays.
Nothing personal.
Just work.
“You really live like this?”
Ethan looked up.
“Like what?”
“Like work is your roommate.”
Silence.
Then Ethan laughed.
“Maybe.”
Lucas sat.
“So.”
“When do you have fun?”
“I work.”
“No.”
“Real fun.”
“I work.”
“Wow.”
“Depressing.”
Ethan smiled.
“What do teenagers do?”
“We’re not all the same.”
“What do you do?”
Lucas grinned.
“Robotics.”
“Video games.”
“Pancakes.”
“Annoy my sister.”
“Dream.”
Ethan looked interested.
“Dream?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you dream about?”
Lucas leaned back.
“MIT.”
“Building robots.”
“Starting a company.”
“Buying Amelia a beach house.”
Ethan smiled.
“Beach house?”
“She promised Mom one.”
Silence.
Soft silence.
Lucas smiled.
“I think she’d like that.”
Ethan nodded.
“I think so too.”
Then—
Ethan asked.
“What about you?”
Lucas frowned.
“What?”
“If life worked out perfectly.”
“No obstacles.”
“No money issues.”
“No responsibilities.”
“What’s one thing you’d look forward to?”
Lucas thought.
Longer than expected.
Then smiled.
“Simple.”
“What?”
“Pancake Sundays.”
Ethan looked surprised.
“Really?”
Lucas nodded.
“Yeah.”
“People think happiness is yachts.”
“Money.”
“Fame.”
“I think happiness is knowing exactly where you’ll be every Sunday morning.”
“Knowing someone made coffee.”
“Knowing Mom burned one pancake.”
“Knowing Dad said something stupid.”
“Knowing Amelia laughed.”
Silence.
Then Lucas smiled.
“What about you?”
Ethan stared outside.
At Manhattan.
Busy.
Successful.
Lonely.
Then answered honestly.
“I don’t know.”
Lucas laughed.
“That’s sad.”
“It is.”
“But maybe…”
Lucas grinned.
“You can borrow ours.”
“What?”
“Our dream.”
“Pancake Sundays.”
“Family.”
“People teasing each other.”
“People staying.”
Ethan smiled.
Small.
Quiet.
Unfamiliar.
“Maybe.”
Lucas stood.
“So.”
“Can billionaires get pizza?”
Ethan laughed.
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I’ve had enough protein bars for one lifetime.”
And for the first time in years—
Ethan Blackwood left work early.
Not because investors demanded it.
Not because business needed him.
But because a teenager reminded him that there might be more to life than building companies.
There might be people.
Memories.
Pancakes.
And maybe—
A family worth staying home for.
.
- Writer
