Chapter 11
T he next morning Brody drove to Fortunate Harbor far more ready than he ever would have expected.
This whole time, ever since being shocked awake by the lightning-streaked nightmare, Brody had known the confrontation with his boss was bound to happen.
But it remained this huge amorphous question mark, dangling in the distance.
Someday he would hopefully know what he wanted to do next.
When that happened, and he had settled on a future direction, they would talk. Or so he had assumed.
He had no idea what shape his future should take. Only that it couldn’t continue the course Jason Whitinger had set. And somehow, as he drove the almost empty beach highway, that was enough.
When he entered the hotel and passed through the lobby, Brody felt good, really good.
Maybe it was just aftereffects from a genuinely earth-shattering day, confessing to Olivia, his mother’s invitation, Emma, Rae.
He had thought a lot about all those things, waking early and going for a run, then packing his things and checking out.
Then he’d called his mother and told her about Emma.
Of course, Mia already knew about the woman’s illness.
Moving to Oriental did not sever decades of ties.
Brody told her about the invitation, his desire to be there in case Emma needed him.
Mia had replied as he’d known she would, that she’d have the place furnished in a few days, ready whenever he was.
All these experiences stayed with him. They formed the start of a new chapter. Brody had no idea where all this was headed. But so far, it all felt pretty good.
He entered the restaurant almost an hour early.
Which was the norm when responding to Jacob’s summons.
During Brody’s six years with the firm, he had seen any number of staffers in the CEO’s front office, hunched over their tablets and laptops and papers, frantically prepping.
Jacob Whitinger ran his company on the split-second clock and expected his team to respond “on the bounce.” That was one of the man’s defining trademarks, how he shouted those three words, in the office and shipboard. On the bounce.
Well, not today.
Brody ordered a house special of mashed avocado spread on a thick slice of sourdough toast, topped with two poached eggs and coriander. Fresh squeezed OJ and coffee, black. He ate slowly, watching couples and families enjoying a pre-Christmas beachfront break. Letting his mind drift.
The previous day’s three confessional bouts left him weightless, the doors to memories flung wide open.
He recalled the summer he turned seventeen, still working at the marina, being invited by Jacob Whitinger to fill an empty space on his boat.
That day, one of Jacob’s regular crew was beached for something no one was willing to discuss.
From the very first moment onboard, Brody had liked the way Jacob Whitinger handled his boat and his crew.
The man’s icy demeanor and dictatorial style became tempered by his genuine love of sailing and the sea.
Brody admired Whitinger’s ability to draw the very best from his team.
He counted that three-day race as one of his finest teenage memories.
Right up there with the months he’d spent in Rae’s company.
When Brody neared graduation from Wharton, he submitted his application to Jacob Whitinger personally.
His other job interviews were little more than placeholders.
Jacob invited him down, gave Brody a surgeon’s exam, then set the terms and conditions.
Take it or leave it. When Brody accepted, Jacob offered a final warning.
Either Brody proved himself in the firm and on the water, or he was beached.
Brody knew the man spoke ice-cold truth.
Until recently, he had remained relatively content just making the grade.
He was lingering over a second cup of coffee when his phone pinged. The text read, Suite 305. Five minutes.
Brody actually said the words aloud. “Not today.”
He typed in a reply, wondering at his first-ever calm. I’m in the restaurant if you’d like to meet.
He turned off his phone. Brody watched the light strengthen beyond the restaurant’s east-facing windows, and wondered if the other patrons could sense the coming explosion.
Jacob Whitinger arrived wearing his sailing gear, clearly intending to show Brody exactly what was at stake. This wasn’t just about a job. His career as an ocean racer was on the line.
Whitinger gave the approaching waiter a smile that fooled neither the guy nor Brody.
The waiter was already backing away when Jacob said he didn’t want anything.
Jacob seated himself and inspected Brody with eyes the color of glacier ice, old and cold.
Brody knew the man was sixty-eight, but he could easily have been ten years younger.
Extremely fit, perfectly groomed even when preparing for a day on the open waters.
Stationed in his chair like a predator ready to pounce. Attack. Devour.
Brody knew Jacob was furious over having to come downstairs.
Effectively summoned by one of his crew.
He hid it fairly well, but the tells were visible.
Tells were a sailor’s means of racing ahead of competitors.
Little cat’s-paw indentations in open waters, showing where sudden wind-bursts from a new direction offered a chance to pull ahead—or be demolished by the opposition.
Jacob’s tells were tiny indentations carved to either side of his eyes, and a tight strip of red by his temples.
His voice was an assassin’s melody. “You know what your problem is?”
Brody found it strange that he still had no idea how he wanted this confrontation to play out.
He simply wasn’t as prepared as he should be.
Just the same, he had never felt this immune to Jacob’s fury.
As if his utter lack of preparation was actually a good thing.
The total illogicality of his position left him almost giddy.
Jacob told him, “You don’t love winning enough. Sure, you like it. But you don’t live for it.” His boss shifted forward a trace, readying for the strike. “Which means you’ll always be second mate. Or worse, second rate.”
Brody felt the response drift in through the open terrace doors, lofted by sunlight and the ocean’s heady tang. “Why were you so angry over my speaking at the conference?”
Jacob’s gaze sparked, a hint of the molten interior revealed. There and gone. “You stepped out of bounds. You should have asked permission. And you know it.”
“I think something else is at work. My speech and the reception I gained, all that challenged the box you want to keep me in.”
His challenge was all it took. Jacob’s quiet snarl was enough to turn heads at all the surrounding tables.
“You need me more than you’ll ever know.
I’m the guy on the front line. I’m the winner you’ll never be.
I give you more than a boat and a job. I give you a purpose .
That’s something you’ll never find on your own. ”
As Jacob rose to his feet, he realized the attention now cast their way. The effort required to restore his meaningless smile was huge. “Now you hide behind that woman’s skirts because you don’t have what it takes to meet me head on. And you never will.”
This from a man with a dozen attorneys on his payroll. “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Brody said. “You’re going to offer me two contracts. One for my work, and one for my sailing gig. That’s the way it has to be from now—”
“You don’t dictate terms.” He thumped his fist on the linen-draped table. “Not now, not ever.”
Brody ignored him. “And you’re going to pay me the bonus I’ve earned. This year and last.”
Jacob actually laughed. “Or what, you walk?”
“No, Jacob. Because I already have. Either you lure me back with a proper—”
Jacob leaned in so close Brody smelled the man’s aftershave. “Here’s my counteroffer. You crawl back and beg for another chance. Or you’ll never race on any boat ever again. I’ll see to that personally. You mark my words.”
Brody sat and watched the champion racer storm from the room. He felt the diners’ attention turn his way and didn’t care. There was a unique satisfaction in lifting his coffee cup and finding his hand was still steady, despite the lingering cinders and smoke Jacob had left in his wake.
Brody remained seated, facing the strengthening day, for over an hour. When he finally signaled the waiter for his bill, he had formulated what he thought were two key questions designed to carry him forward.
The lobby’s Christmas tree blinked a cheery farewell as he departed. He crossed the parking lot, climbed into his ride, started the engine, rolled down all the windows, and sat staring into the day ahead. Coming to terms with this new compass heading.
Question one was, why did losing his chance to race feel so meaningless? He knew Jacob Whitinger was as good as his threat.
The answer was, the joy that had once defined his sailing life was gone. He had to find a new way forward.
Which led straight to question two.
What now?
As if in response, his phone chimed.
When Brody checked the screen, he realized it was not an incoming message but rather a reminder that it was time to call Cameron, the therapist.
The very instant she came on the line, Cameron demanded, “Are you prepared to discuss the concept of real change?”
“I’ve given it a lot of thought,” Brody replied. “I’ll talk about that if you insist. But I’d really like to spend this time on something else.”
Cameron hesitated, then said, “I’m listening.”
Brody felt as though he’d prepped for days. Which, in truth, he might have. The morning’s tight calm remained as he recounted the exchange with his boss.
Amazing.