16. Oliver
OLIVER
I pull on a button-down and drive out to the house.
The gate recognizes my plate. The drive is long enough to feel like you’re leaving one world for another. The mansion is quiet even when it’s full. Staff move like air. My mother meets me in the front hall and kisses my cheek without smudging her lipstick. It wouldn’t dare smudge.
“Oliver. Thank you for coming.”
“Hi, Mom.”
She looks me over like she’s checking for damage. “You look tired.”
“We had the shelter event. It went well.”
“Yes, I saw something about bees and candles. It’s good for a Fitzwilliam to help with charity work,” she says, and moves me toward the sunroom. “Your father will be down in a moment.”
My sister, Caroline, is already at the table with a tablet and a coffee she didn’t make. She waves. “Hi, Olly.”
“Hey, Care Bear.”
She taps the screen. “I saw a clip of Rocco. He sounded good.”
“He did.”
“Is that permanent?” she asks, eyes quick. “Him singing again.”
“I hope so. He needs it.”
My father comes in five minutes late in a sweater, and that expression which means he’s about to start a meeting. He shakes my hand instead of hugging me. Always. “Oliver.”
“Dad.”
We sit. The table is set like an interior design magazine. There’s a low conversation about weather and a few polite questions about Habitat until my father clears his throat and folds his hands. “Let’s address your situation.”
“Which part?”
“ Barista drama , as your mother called it at dinner,” he says haughtily. “You are too close to that Bridges girl. This is not your problem to fix. You need distance. It doesn’t look good for the family.”
“It is my problem,” I say. “Meg is family to me. Bea’s is part of my life.”
“Family is at this table.”
“I have more than one table.”
He exhales. “Oliver, I do not like that you chose hockey as a…hobby.”
“It’s my career, Dad.”
“Hobby,” he repeats. “I have accepted it. As I accept your volunteer work and your…blue-collar interests. That’s fine, I suppose. I want you to be the best at anything you do. Right now, you are not. Your performance has been lacking.”
“You’re watching the games. I’m flattered.”
He ignores that. “You’re dating that girl, aren’t you?”
I hold his eyes. “When it comes to things between me and Meg, you don’t get a vote. I hope this clears that up.”
“And your cohorts? You’re all living together with that girl. It’s one of those golly things, isn’t it?”
“ Poly , Dad,” Caroline says quietly.
“Right. Poly.”
I huff. “It’s none of your business.”
My mother shifts in her chair. Caroline stares at her coffee. My father’s expression doesn’t change much, but the temperature in the room drops.
“It is unnatural ,” he says, clipped. “You and your friends are involved with the same woman.”
“Feels perfectly natural to me.”
He rolls his eyes. “Your prurient sense of humor is not welcome. Locker-room talk stays in the locker room. Not in this house.”
“If you think that was locker-room talk, you haven’t been in a locker room in a long, long time.”
He glances toward the window like the hedges might be listening.
“Putting aside your private behavior, you are attached to a woman who runs a small shop and is currently involved in legal disputes, online spats, and press gossip. That is an unstable situation. It reflects poorly on you. It distracts you.”
“It’s not gossip. It’s targeted attacks. We have counsel. We’re handling it.”
“You mean my counsel.”
“I’m paying for it.”
He steeples his fingers. “Here is what I will accept. You keep your…affairs private. You keep your name out of the press. You do not bring those fights to our door. You keep your focus where it belongs. Your metrics this month are not good.”
“Thank you for the feedback.”
“I am not finished. You should be more involved appropriately . Fund projects. Endow something meaningful. Do something good with our money.”
“I build houses. I raise money for shelters. I work with the city on pocket parks. I am doing something good with our money.”
“That is…fine. But you must find larger impact projects. Legacy projects.”
“I will consider it. And I need to go. I have plans.”
My mother gives me the look that says, Don’t make a scene . I don’t. I put my napkin on the table. Caroline meets my eyes on purpose for the first time since we sat down.
She mouths, You okay?
I nod. “Thanks for brunch.” Not that I ate any of it. Too bland.
My father spoons compote onto his plate and doesn’t look up. “Distance, Oliver. That is my advice.”
“Your declined advice.”
He shakes his head. “As you wish.”
I kiss my mother’s cheek, squeeze Caroline’s shoulder, and walk out. I’m out the door in two minutes and in the truck in three. By the time I hit the gate, I have a text from Meg: You alive? She knows what family Sundays are like here.
Alive and on my way, I send and head back toward the city.
The apartment is busy when I get in. Hudson is at the stove, chopping onions and trying not to cry. Rocco is at the table with a legal pad. Meg is on the couch with a folder and her laptop open. She looks up when the door closes behind me.
“How bad?” she asks.
“Predictable,” I say, hanging my coat. “He told me to put distance between me and your…barista drama. He said my performance is down. He said our…relationship is unnatural.”
Meg’s eyebrows go up. “And you said…?”
“He doesn’t get a vote.”
Hudson snorts. “Amen.”
Rocco taps his pen. “We filing on Monday?”
“Dana sent a list,” Meg says, patting the folder. “We need to decide our order of operations. We need a plan if we can’t stop the eviction.”
“Okay.”
We move to the table. Hudson brings over a pan of something that smells good and turns off the burner. He sits and leans forward like he’s ready to run a drill. Rocco slides the legal pad to Meg and clicks his pen.
“First,” Meg says, flipping to the top sheet.
“Dana is filing a demand to withdraw the cease and desist on the art and recipe names. That’s separate.
She’s also preparing a response to the thirty-day notice.
She thinks we can argue bad-faith interference and ask for a stay.
We need to pull the lease, payment records, and any landlord communications. I have those.”
“Good,” I say. “What about the press?”
“She wants me to stay quiet. We can post facts about the fundraiser and donations. Nothing about the notice.”
“Done,” I say. “Next.”
“If we can’t stop the eviction, we need a move plan in place,” Meg says. Her face is steady when she says it. “I hate saying that. I need to say it.”
“Agreed,” Rocco says.
“We’ll map it,” Hudson says. “Two lists—legal and logistics.”
I pick up a pen. “I have a third list. Purchase.”
Meg holds up a hand. “Oliver.”
“Not me buying it. Us. The community. A micro-invest path to buy the building if needed. You won’t take my money.
I respect that. This is different. We build a small investor syndicate with caps on individual stakes.
We let regulars, vendors, neighborhood people, and fans buy in.
We structure it so no one person, including me, controls it.
The building becomes a community asset with Bea’s as anchor tenant. ”
Meg looks at me, then at the folder, then back at me. “Explain.”
So, I do. Meg listens without interrupting.
Hudson looks at me like he’s watching a face-off.
Rocco nods along and takes notes. “…I’ve already texted a friend who does small community offerings.
He’ll take a call and tell us where the lines are.
Dana can oversee. We can’t post ‘invest now’ on Instagram.
We can build a list and prepare filings.
We can talk to the credit union that supports small businesses on the east side. They’ve worked with Habitat before.”
Meg rubs her thumb over the edge of the table. “I don’t want my name on a bailout where your family looks like they saved me.”
“It won’t be that,” I say. “The documents will be plain. The bank will see steady rent, community support, and your sales figures. It’s a good investment.”
Hudson leans in. “We publish every dollar.”
“Yes,” I say. “Transparent.”
Rocco taps the pad. “Timeline.”
“Two paths in parallel,” I say. “Legal—Dana files Monday. She asks for a stay, aims for ninety days. Finance—we start groundwork now so we’re ready the day we get a ruling.
That means building the interest list, vetting structures, and setting terms. Logistics—we plan for the worst. We mark what moves, what sells, what stays.
We line up storage, trucks, and volunteers.
We don’t panic. We don’t stop the line.”
Meg exhales. “I hate this. I also love that you have a list.”
Hudson cracks his knuckles. “Assignments.”
“Legal prep,” Meg says. “Me and Dana.”
“Vendor outreach,” Rocco says. “I’ll call Marisol and Lisa and the others. They’ll spread the word quietly.”
I nod. “I’ll call the credit union. No commitments. Just a conversation about underwriting for a small syndicate purchase.”
Meg agrees. “I’ll ask Dana to refer the right securities counsel.”
We work for an hour. We build a master doc.
We set deadlines that fit the week. I cook while we talk because feeding people makes it easier to keep going.
Hudson takes over when I get lost in a sentence.
Plus, he salts better than I do. Rocco checks the calendar and adds Thursday’s event prep tasks and the new ones for Monday.
Meg types. Her face is calm again. Good.
I pull plates out and we eat at the table, shoulders touching. We don’t talk about my father again. It doesn’t help. We talk about what we can control instead.
By the time things are in motion, it’s late. Rocco gathers plates. Hudson starts the dishwasher. Meg prints the interest sheet and tapes it to a clipboard. I put the clipboard in her tote so she doesn’t forget it in the morning.
She looks at me when the others drift to the living room. “Family okay otherwise? Caroline, your mom?”
“They’re as good as they ever are.” I pause for a beat. “Dad also told me to fund something meaningful, and that might be the best advice he could give me. So I’m going to help buy a building with a hundred of our closest friends.”
She laughs once, tired but real. “That counts.”
I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “You okay?”
“No,” she says. “But I will be.”
“We’re going to do everything we can. “You are not alone.”
“That’s why I’ll be okay.” She pushes up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “Thank you for the plan.”
“You’re welcome.”
Practice is early. I want to be sharp. I want to earn the top shift back. I want to skate clean and then meet with a banker and a lawyer and a handful of vendors and run emails and do a site visit with Habitat and come home to make dinner for people who will be at a table I chose.
My real family.