3. Cole
COLE
I wasn’t happy when my father called and asked me to come to his office. Then again, I wasn’t ever happy when he contacted me. My workaholic, CEO, multi-billionaire father wasn’t exactly the warm-and-fuzzy type.
I eased my Porsche into the parking garage below his building in the Financial District. Dad was seventy-three, but you’d never know it. He had no plans to retire from commercial real estate. He was still at his desk every day, barking orders, making deals, and intermittently watching YouTube videos about how to improve his golf swing.
“Hi Cole.” His long-suffering assistant, Kevin, gave me a wry smile. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Lucky me.”
Kevin laughed. “He’s on his third cup of coffee, so watch out.” My father’s irritability increased with caffeine, but he refused to quit. Typically, by his third cup, he was yelling at the staff to bring him documents he already had and barking about his lunch reservations.
God bless Kevin. I had no idea how he’d survived so many years working for my old man.
I went into the office, which had a commanding view of the city that reached all the way to the Seaport. There were boats in the Boston Harbor, and people were having fun and enjoying the fine summer weather. But here was my father, who had all the money in the world, with shirt sleeves rolled up, a set of architectural plans spread out on the desk in front of him, and a sour look on his face. “Son.”
“Dad.” I flopped into one of the armchairs facing his desk. “You summoned me? What’s up?”
He jabbed a finger at the plans on his desk. “Your guy Ramos is screwing me on this. I can’t get the approvals and it’s holding me up.”
“He’s not my guy, and it’s not my problem.” My father had zero boundaries when it came to business. He was always demanding favors. I was a venture capitalist, so I knew a lot of people. Many of the people I worked with were from a younger generation, one my father wasn’t as familiar with.
Dad was always trying to leverage my connections to his advantage. He wasn’t above throwing my name around to try to get permits, special pricing, or other favors, even though I refused to ever use his. There was a reason for that, and it wasn’t just that I’d always wanted to make my own way in the world. My dad had a reputation for being a miserable prick—his name might open a few doors, but it closed some, too.
Dad raised his finger and now jabbed it in my direction. “You know Ramos. I want you to call him and tell him to stop blocking me.”
“I’m not going to do that. If Ramos hasn’t given you the approvals yet, it’s probably because the plans don’t comply with the newest ordinance.”
Dad’s face started to get red. Uh-oh. “Don’t tell me about the ‘newest ordinance.’ You think I don’t know the fucking city code? Who do you think you’re talking to?”
“I think I’m talking to you, Dad.” I sighed. “And I’m not trying to start a fight. I’m just being honest.”
“Since when? Since you started your VC company and acted like you built it yourself, instead of admitting that Daddy put you through Wharton and gave you every single Goddamned thing you have? Remember that‘Forty Under Forty’ article, the one where you said you were self-made? Ha!” He snorted.
“Of course I remember. It’s not like you let a month go by without mentioning it.” I’d made the mistake of being quoted for a Boston Magazine article. I said that I’d built my company from the ground up, which was true. Of course, I was also the son of a billionaire. I’d been born with every advantage, every connection, and my father never let me forget about it—especially when he wanted something from me. “Apparently, I’m supposed to mention you every time I speak. Sorry I left you and your empire out of one sentence.”
“You should be.” Dad’s face was still red. “I expect you to help me the way that I’ve always helped you. Call your friend. Tell him to give me the approvals.”
In my late thirties, I’d found myself running out of patience. “Or what?” I asked, challenging him.
The finger jabbed toward me again. “Or I’ll make your life hell.”
“Gee, thanks. Remind me the next time you call not to pick up.” I hauled my ass from the chair and headed for the door.
“Just remember who you are and where you came from.” His tone had gone from angry to self-assured. My father was a man who always got what he wanted, no matter what the cost. He’d been bully-buying his way through life for as long as I could remember.
“It’s not like I can forget,” I said as I closed the door behind me.
I wished I could. Man, he was such a dick.
Kevin was nowhere to be found—he was probably hiding from my father. I didn’t blame him. I checked my phone on my way out. There was a text from Shirley, who always kept me organized.
Don’t forget you have drinks tonight for Todd Preston—8pm.
Thank God. I would have several drinks and find a gorgeous woman to make me forget about my father and his long list of demands.
Still, I would make the call to Ramos for him. Not because I wanted to please him or because I was afraid of him—I was long past both of those things. I barely felt anything for my father other than the occasional headache. On a deeper level, I understood that he was, at least in part, responsible for my success. I wouldn’t be a billionaire without him. I wouldn’t have started my VC company from a place of strength. As much of a prick as my father often was, he still opened more doors than he closed for me. I was just self-aware enough to realize that.
Also, there was the fact that I was poised to inherit his multi-billion-dollar empire. That had something to do with me answering his calls. I didn’t like to think about it, so I chose not to. But in the back of my mind, the Bryson billions were, of course, a consideration. A pile of money that large was the elephant in the room that I would continue to be aware of and also ignore.
I would do him a favor to get him off my back. If he was satisfied, he would leave me alone.
And I couldn’t ask for more than that.