Chapter 3: A Father’s Last Straw
1849 Words
By nine the next morning, Mr. Eliot had already received three complaints about his son.
The first came from the head of marketing.
The second came from a client Scott had offended during a breakfast meeting.
The third came from a woman who had somehow managed to get past reception and was now sitting in the lobby, demanding to see Scott.
Mr. Eliot listened to the receptionist explain the situation over the phone.
“She says she won’t leave.”
“Then ask security to escort her out.”
“We tried, sir.”
“And?”
“She told them Scott promised to marry her.”
Mr. Eliot closed his eyes.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he asked quietly, “Did Scott promise that?”
The receptionist hesitated.
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Neither do I.”
He ended the call.
His office fell silent.
On his desk sat the quarterly report he’d been reviewing.
He should have been thinking about expansion.
Instead, he was thinking about his thirty-year-old son and wondering how a man could be so intelligent at work and so determined to ruin his own life everywhere else.
The door opened.
His assistant stepped inside.
“Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Scott is on his way.”
Mr. Eliot looked up.
“Who told him to come?”
“No one.”
Of course.
Scott rarely waited for invitations.
“Send him in.”
The assistant left.
Mr. Eliot leaned back in his chair.
He had spent years protecting his son from consequences.
Too many years.
When Scott was younger, his mistakes had been ordinary.
A broken window.
A school suspension.
A reckless car ride.
Those were things a father could correct.
But adulthood had changed the scale of the problem.
Now Scott’s mistakes had names.
Contracts.
Employees.
Women.
Reputations.
People who trusted the Eliot name.
Mr. Eliot had defended him for years.
He had told the board that Scott was young.
He had told investors that Scott needed time.
He had told himself that eventually his son would wake up.
Maybe he had been waiting for the wrong thing.
The door opened again.
Scott walked in without knocking.
“Morning.”
Mr. Eliot stared at him.
“Sit.”
Scott pulled out the chair opposite the desk and dropped into it.
“You sound cheerful.”
“I’m not.”
“I noticed.”
Scott glanced at the papers on the desk.
“What’s this about?”
“Your morning.”
“My morning?”
“The woman downstairs.”
Scott’s expression changed slightly.
“Ah.”
“That’s all you have to say?”
“What would you like me to say?”
“Did you promise to marry her?”
Scott laughed.
“No.”
“Did you tell her you loved her?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her you wanted a future with her?”
“No.”
Mr. Eliot stared at him.
“Then why is she downstairs claiming you did?”
Scott leaned back.
“She misunderstood.”
“She misunderstood you?”
“People hear what they want to hear.”
“Then perhaps you should stop giving them reasons to hear it.”
Scott’s jaw tightened.
“I never promised her anything.”
“That’s your defense?”
“It’s the truth.”
Mr. Eliot stood.
“You think honesty is the same thing as decency.”
Scott’s eyes hardened.
“I didn’t come here to be lectured.”
“You came because I asked you to.”
“No. You called me yesterday and told me to come home. Then you said nothing useful.”
Mr. Eliot walked around his desk.
“I said your life was becoming a problem.”
Scott gave a humorless smile.
“And today we’re discussing women?”
“We’re discussing you.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
The words landed harder than Scott expected.
His smile disappeared.
Mr. Eliot continued.
“You arrived late to a board meeting.”
“I still handled it.”
“You embarrassed the finance director.”
“I corrected his mistake.”
“You ignored a client yesterday because you were busy entertaining someone in your office.”
Scott’s eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because people exaggerate.”
Mr. Eliot laughed once.
“Do they?”
Scott said nothing.
His father picked up another sheet.
“This is a complaint from the legal department.”
Scott frowned.
“About what?”
“A junior employee says you made inappropriate comments to her.”
“I was joking.”
“She didn’t laugh.”
Scott rubbed his jaw.
“Then she misunderstood.”
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“Your favorite sentence.”
Scott looked away.
Mr. Eliot dropped the paper onto the desk.
“You keep blaming everyone else for the consequences of your behavior.”
Scott stood.
“I’m not going to sit here while you make me sound like some criminal.”
“I never called you a criminal.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Then listen to what I’m actually saying.”
Scott stared at him.
His father lowered his voice.
“I don’t recognize the man you’re becoming.”
Something shifted in Scott’s expression.
Only for a second.
Then it disappeared.
“You’ve never recognized me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You wanted me to be you.”
“I wanted you to be responsible.”
“You wanted me to live your life.”
“No.”
Mr. Eliot shook his head.
“I wanted you to understand that your choices affect more than you.”
Scott scoffed.
“I run the company.”
“Exactly.”
“And it’s doing well.”
“Because you are good at business.”
The compliment came without warmth.
“Unfortunately, being good at business has convinced you that you’re good at everything.”
Scott’s eyes flashed.
Mr. Eliot continued before he could respond.
“You’re careless with people.”
Scott went still.
“You’re careless with women.”
His father’s voice tightened.
“You’re careless with yourself.”
Scott looked toward the window.
Outside, the city moved as though nothing in the world had changed.
Cars crawled along the street.
People hurried across sidewalks.
Everything continued.
Inside the office, father and son stood on opposite sides of a problem neither knew how to solve.
“You’re overreacting,” Scott finally said.
Mr. Eliot looked at him.
“No.”
He walked back to his desk.
“I’ve been underreacting.”
Scott frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I’ve been giving you too much room.”
Scott laughed quietly.
“So what now? You’re grounding me?”
“I’m not your jailer.”
“Good.”
“I’m your father.”
Scott’s expression tightened.
“And I’m tired.”
That stopped him.
Mr. Eliot sat down.
“I am tired of receiving calls about you.”
Scott said nothing.
“I’m tired of defending decisions you make without thinking.”
Silence.
“I’m tired of watching people excuse your behavior because of your surname.”
Scott’s voice softened slightly.
“Then stop defending me.”
“I intend to.”
Scott looked at him.
“What?”
Mr. Eliot reached for a folder.
“From today, you will take responsibility for your own choices.”
Scott stared at the folder.
“What is that?”
“You’ll find out.”
“I don’t like that answer.”
“I know.”
Mr. Eliot opened the folder.
Inside were photographs.
Scott recognized the first one immediately.
Him.
At a nightclub.
The second.
A woman leaving his apartment.
The third.
Another woman.
The fourth.
Scott at a restaurant.
His father pushed the photographs aside.
“I’m not interested in embarrassing you.”
“Then why keep these?”
“Because this is the life you’re building.”
Scott’s expression hardened.
“You’re spying on me?”
“I’m documenting a pattern.”
“You had someone follow me?”
“I had someone investigate what was becoming a problem.”
Scott picked up one photograph.
“Who gave you these?”
“Does that matter?”
“It matters to me.”
Mr. Eliot leaned forward.
“What matters to you?”
Scott looked at him.
Neither spoke.
Then Mr. Eliot said quietly, “Nothing seems to.”
Scott dropped the photograph onto the desk.
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
Scott opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
His father watched him.
For all his anger, there was pain behind his eyes.
That was worse.
Scott could handle anger.
He could fight it.
Pain was different.
“You’re my son,” Mr. Eliot said. “I love you.”
Scott looked away.
“But loving you doesn’t mean I have to keep cleaning up after you.”
A long silence followed.
Then Scott asked, “What exactly are you planning?”
Mr. Eliot closed the folder.
“You’ll know soon enough.”
Scott shook his head.
“This sounds like another one of your games.”
“No.”
Mr. Eliot’s voice was calm.
“This time, I’m serious.”
Scott walked toward the door.
His hand reached the handle.
“Scott.”
He stopped.
“If nothing changes, you will eventually lose something you can’t buy back.”
Scott turned.
“What?”
Mr. Eliot held his gaze.
“Respect.”
For the first time that morning, Scott had no sarcastic answer.
He opened the door.
Then stopped again.
“Am I fired?”
His father almost smiled.
“No.”
Scott waited.
“You’re going to work harder than you’ve ever worked.”
“Doing what?”
“Being the man you keep insisting you already are.”
Scott shook his head.
“You’re impossible.”
“So I’ve been told.”
Scott walked out.
The door closed.
Mr. Eliot remained still for several moments.
Then he reached for the folder beneath the photographs.
This one was thinner.
No scandals.
No complaints.
No photographs.
Just a résumé.
He opened it.
A young woman’s photograph was attached to the top corner.
Eliana.
Mr. Eliot studied the page.
Hardworking.
Reliable.
Intelligent.
Patient.
Two years at the restaurant.
No disciplinary record.
No unnecessary complaints.
No history of taking advantage of anyone.
Exactly the kind of person his son had spent years avoiding.
Mr. Eliot picked up his phone.
He hesitated.
Then dialed a number.
The call connected after two rings.
“Hello?”
“Eliana?”
There was a pause.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’d like to speak with you.”
“Is everything okay?”
Mr. Eliot looked toward the closed door through which his son had just disappeared.
“No,” he said honestly.
“It isn’t.”
Another pause.
Then he added,
“And I have a proposition for you.”
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