About That Night (FBI/US Attorney #3)(82)
“Maybe I’m just watching my girlish figure.”
Chuck chuckled. “Or maybe that business gene got passed on to both Rhodes twins.”
Things continued on this way for several weeks. The party line at Rhodes Corporation was that the CEO had decided to work from home and spend more time with his family following his wife’s passing. Kyle kept in contact with the executive team behind the scenes, often responding to e-mails or reviewing proposals and reports in the late evening while working out of one of the guest suites in his parents’ house. On several occasions, he attempted to broach the subject with his father, but got no further than he had on the day his dad told him to let the company rot.
When August rolled around—the month Kyle normally would’ve been returning to grad school—and still nothing had changed with his dad, he decided enough was enough. Neither rational arguments nor tough love could convince his father to get professional help, so that meant there was only one option left.
The guilt trip.
Kyle huddled with Jordan one night in the kitchen as they devised their plan. “It should be you,” he whispered, keeping one eye out in case his dad walked in. Since the man never left the house, he was always around somewhere. “And you need to lay it on thick, Jordo. Quivering lip, big crocodile tears, whatever it takes. Dad never could say no when you cry.”
Jordan looked indignant. “When have I ever tried to manipulate Dad with tears?”
“Oh, I distinctly remember a time when somebody cried for days after being told she couldn’t have a Barbie Dream House because it was too big for her bedroom.”
“We were seven at the time,” Jordan said. “The circumstances are a bit different now.”
“Did you get the Barbie Dream House?” Kyle asked pointedly.
With a mischievous smile, Jordan shrugged. “Santa came through for me.” She glanced in the direction of their father’s study, turning more serious. “Okay, I’ll do it. I just hate that it’s come to this.”
“He needs help, Jordo. You and I simply aren’t enough to fix this.” Perhaps that was one of the reasons he and Jordan had let things drag out this long—neither of them had wanted to admit that.
An hour later, Jordan emerged from their father’s study with a reddened nose and a relieved smile. She gave Kyle the thumbs-up sign.
Later that week, their father had his first appointment with a psychiatrist, who prescribed an antidepressant, set up weekly counseling sessions, and also referred him to a local grief support group. The changes didn’t happen overnight, but slowly Kyle began to see more and more glimpses of the old Grey Rhodes. First there was the quip about the number of lasagnas still stored in the freezer, then there was the day Kyle came back to the house after a meeting with Chuck and found his father on the phone with the director of a battered women’s shelter, making arrangements to donate their mother’s clothes.
One evening shortly thereafter, Kyle sat at the kitchen counter, eating Thai takeout and reviewing the August financials the CFO had sent over. Sales of the new endpoint and e-mail protection service had continued to climb steadily since its launch, and customer feedback had been overwhelmingly positive.
“Are those the most recent financials?”
Kyle turned around, so surprised by the voice he nearly choked on his shrimp pad thai. His father stood by the subzero refrigerator—how long he’d been there was anyone’s guess.
Kyle swallowed the pad thai. “Yes.” He took a sip of the evening cocktail he’d poured himself—vodka on the rocks—and tried to look nonchalant as his father took a seat on the bar stool next to him.
Grey turned to him with a keen gleam Kyle recognized well. He pointed to the financials. “Maybe you should show me what the hell you’ve been doing with my company all summer.”
Kyle grinned. Thank f**king God. Without further ado, he handed over the financials to his dad. “About time. Reading this stuff is as much fun as watching paint dry.”
Grey chuckled. Shaking his head, he looked at Kyle for a long moment…then reached out and pulled Kyle in for a hug so tight he nearly fell off his bar stool. “Thank you, son,” he said in a choked voice.
“You’re welcome.” And Kyle would have been lying if he didn’t admit that he was pretty damn misty-eyed, too.
Not surprisingly, the next thing Grey wanted to talk about was school. “I know your classes started a couple weeks ago. It’s probably time you thought about heading back to Champaign.”
“I already called Professor Sharma and told him that I won’t be returning this semester.”
“No way. You’ve put your life on hold for too long already.”
Kyle had known that this moment would eventually come—at least he’d always hoped it would—and he’d thought a lot about his options. He could return to Champaign and spend the next few years in a cornfield, getting his PhD. Or, if he didn’t want to be so far away from his family, he could transfer to the University of Chicago, albeit a school with a less prestigious computer sciences program, and continue his studies there.
And then there was option C.
“You’re right—I have been putting my life on hold for too long,” he said. “Maybe it’s time I put these mad skills of mine to work. Luckily, I happen to know a guy who owns a company that might have something right up my alley.”