6. Caleb Astor
SIX
Caleb Astor
S ummoned, I stare out the window of their lavish hotel suite, city of Atlanta sprawling below as far as the eye can see like a world of miniatures — the sunlight and shadows and skyscrapers that make up Midtown. Zoe Cocker’s words are still ringing in my mind about the standards management has in this hotel. My parents’ suite has a grandeur that is normal to me, a testament to my family’s wealth: marble floors, gilded furniture, and a view that costs a fortune just to gaze upon.
“Caleb, darling, come here,” my mother calls, her voice as smooth as it is a warning that I won’t like this conversation.
I turn, forcing a smile, “Yes, Mother?” trying to keep my tone light, but it’s hard when I sense tension brewing beneath the surface like this. She glides over, low heels clicking against the marble, followed closely by my father, whose presence is as foreign to me as if he were a stranger. Although I work for his corporation, I rarely see the man. When I was in boarding school, only on holidays, and sometimes only Mom would be home when I flew in. Before that, a nanny was my everything.
“Your father and I have something important to discuss,” Mom continues, her eyes glistening with a mix of trepidation and something else — fear, perhaps. I brace myself, knowing that “important” in their world rarely means good news.
“We’ve been thinking about your future,” my father interjects, each syllable dripping with disdain for having to talk to us at all. He’d rather be discussing business with board members or be transfixed by conference calls with any of the many heads of his management teams. “It’s time we had a serious talk about your trust fund.”
My heart thuds hollow. I’ve always known my family’s fortune comes with strings attached, and that this conversation would be coming now that my grandmother, the last of my father’s parents, has left the world. It’s been a month since, and I’ve been waiting for this shoe to drop.
“What about it?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.
My mother exchanges a glance with my father, a silent conversation that tells me I won’t be happy with what I’m about to hear. “Caleb,” she says, her tone shifting to that of a condescending elder who doesn’t respect the younger generation’s intelligence, “you know how important it is for our family’s legacy to continue, right?”
“Of course,” I reply, my voice steady.
“You will carry on the family name, since you are male.”
“And your only child. Yes, I know,” I huff with impatience. My whole life I’ve been made painfully aware how much pressure is on me and solely me to perform to the standards of my paternal side and carry on the family name in a manner which excels at life in every way. Not only have I had the isolation of growing up without siblings, but they stopped speaking to my mother’s side right after I was born, that entire family tree deemed unworthy of Dad and his ideas and ambitions of our future. “You’ve read the Will I take it?”
“Yes,” my father says with a smile I don’t recognize. Is it…smug? “and it stated clearly that I am to define the rules for how you will acquire your trust fund. I have decided that you are not to receive a dime of that trust until you are married.”
I blink, stunned. “Married? You can’t be serious.”
“Dead serious,” my mother insists, crossing her arms, expression unyielding. “It’s about maintaining the family name, Caleb. We can’t have you squandering the Astor fortune on… on casual relationships.”
“Casual relationships?” I scoff, frustration boiling. “I’m thirty-three and haven’t done anything since college except bust my ass working for Dad’s corporation.”
“Caleb! Watch your tongue.”
“It’s true, Mother.”
My father sneers, “Busting your ass? Is that what you call it? I’ve had to clean up your messes more times than I can count.”
I shove my hands into my suit pockets so I don’t punch my father. “I’ve been a slave to what you’ve built and Grandmother assured me my freedom was coming, to start my own company, find my own passion, with that inheritance. She said nothing of stipulations.”
“You’re not seeing the bigger picture,” my father counters, his voice somber. “This is about securing our family’s future before you squander it. A stable marriage will ensure that our legacy is passed down properly.”
“I don’t need a wife to prove my worth,” I shoot back, anger coursing through me. “I’m more than just your son, just the Astor name! I want to make my own way in the world.”
“But you can’t make your own way without our support,” my mother counters, her eyes narrowing. “And you know how we feel about this. You need to find someone who meets our standards.”
“Standards?” I repeat sarcastically, thinking there’s that word again. “So you want me to find someone from the right social class?”
“Exactly!” Father nods as if I’ve finally understood the essence of their demands. “You need to understand the importance of the family unit.”
“The family unit?” Memories of lonely birthdays haunt my mind as I stare at the man. I feel heat rising to my cheeks, anger and disbelief swirling in my gut. “So…what? I just have to find a woman who fits your mold, marry her, and then you’ll unlock the trust fund? That’s your grand plan?”
“Think of it as an investment in your future,” Mother says, her tone softening slightly, but there’s a steely undertone that suggests no room for negotiation. “We’re only looking out for you, Caleb. We want you to succeed.”
“You’re not looking out for me. You said it yourselves, you’re looking out for the future of our name. So I’m supposed to find a woman I love who fits your idea of what’s right for our family, then marry her and finally be free of your demands on me, my time, and my entire life’s aspirations?” I retort, finishing with a sneer, “This isn’t about success or the family name. It’s about what Dad is obsessed with; it’s about control!” The silence that follows is deafening. The weight of their anger at my calling out the truth settles over the room like a heavy blanket.
“Did I mention,” my father growls, “that it says I define the rules for how you will get your trust and that I can deny you it, if I so choose?”
My blood turns to ice at his threat. I know what this means. Not only must I obey, but if I don’t I will be chained to Astor Corp. under his control indefinitely. What other company would hire me, with my reputation? A past littered with wreckage. Feeling chains around my future locking together, I mutter, “Grandmother didn’t tell me that.”
My mom exhales and informs me, “She altered her wishes officially seven months ago.”
“I got sober six months ago.”
Father snorts, “As if that’ll stick,” his tone dismissive as he storms out of the suite, leaving us alone.
“Caleb.”
“Mom.”
“All you have to do is find a girl who comes from a good family.” Mom stiffly squares her shoulders. “It’s not that hard. You don’t have to love her. Marriage isn’t about love. It’s a partnership. A business arrangement. Why do you think it’s sanctioned by the government in order to be recognized. Just like any corporation?” She sighs and adds, “I know what it’s like to live under your father’s control, believe me. But you do this, and you’ll no longer have to.” With that she turns and begins to leave, pausing to quietly say, “You’ll be free.”
Her heels echo in the silence.
I’m left standing at the window, staring out at a city that’s not my home, one that feels strange to me suddenly. My future hangs in the balance, a prison of their making, and I have to find a wife before it’s too late. Taking out my phone I do a search and find it top of the list: Florist Shop.