Chapter 36
THIRTY-SIX
The soft hum of Nate's computer fan was the only sound in the room as he sat in his office, the glow of the monitor illuminating the cluttered desk in front of him. It was well past midnight, but his mind was tiring itself in circles, sleep far from his thoughts.
Melody and he had been working tirelessly for weeks, not just on her manuscript, but on building something new and exciting within Carlisle Publishing.
Their collaboration had been intense, both professionally and personally.
They had been spending nights together, their passion for each other mirroring the passion they poured into her work.
But tonight, Melody was at some sort of pasta class with Hannah, and Nate found himself alone, staring at a series of emails that he had been neglecting for…more interesting things. Or, rather, one interesting thing.
His eyes scanned the emails on his screen for the hundredth time, each word landing like a stick of dynamite inside his body. He had stumbled upon this thread by accident—a misdirected email that landed in his inbox instead of his father's. What he found made his blood run cold.
"This can't be right," he muttered, rubbing his eyes. But the words didn't change.
There, in black and white, was evidence of his father's systematic attempts to undermine their new publishing approach. Emails to board members, spinning their progress negatively. Correspondence with rival publishing houses, hinting at the possibility of poaching their authors.
And worst of all, communications with movie studios, suggesting changes to Melody's book that flew in the face of everything they had been working towards.
Nate leaned back, his chair creaking in protest. The weight of betrayal settled on his chest like a lead blanket. How could his father do this? After everything they had accomplished, after seeing the potential in their new approach?
His eyes fell on that photo of the two of them, and his hands balled into fists. The contrast between that image and the reality revealed in these emails made his stomach churn.
He stood up abruptly, his chair rolling back and hitting the wall with a thud. He couldn't sit here and stew in this anymore. He needed answers.
The halls of Carlisle Publishing were deserted at this hour, his footsteps echoing ominously as he made his way to his father's office. He knew his father would be there—he always worked late, a habit Nate used to admire.
He didn't bother knocking. He pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest.
His father looked up from his desk, surprise flickering across his face before he schooled his features into his usual impassive mask.
"Nathaniel," he said, leaning back in his chair. "To what do I owe this late-night visit?"
Nate strode forward, slapping a printout of the emails onto his desk. "Care to explain this?"
His father glanced at the papers, then back at him, one eyebrow raised. "I see you've been going through my correspondence. I thought I taught you better than to snoop, son."
His calm demeanor only fueled Nate's anger. "Cut the shit, Dad. You've been actively working to sabotage everything we've been building. Why?"
His father sighed, pushing the papers aside. "Nathaniel, you need to understand. This... experiment of yours is putting the entire company at risk. I'm simply taking precautions."
Nate laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Precautions? Is that what you call going behind my back to the board? Trying to poach our own authors?"
"I'm protecting our interests," his father said, his voice taking on an edge. "This new approach of yours—it's idealistic nonsense. It might work for one book, one author, but it's not sustainable."
"You don't know that," Nate argued, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "We've barely given it a chance. The early results with Melody's book are promising—"
"Ah yes, Ms. Archer," his father interrupted, his lip curling slightly. "The author who seems to have clouded your judgment so thoroughly."
"Leave Melody out of this. This is about the future of Carlisle Publishing."
"Exactly," his father snapped, standing up. "The future of this company that I built from the ground up. And I won't stand by and watch you run it into the ground with your romantic notions of author empowerment."
Nate took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm of emotions raging inside him. “You’re a piece of fucking work, you know that? I mean, you've seen the enthusiasm from our authors, the buzz we're generating in the industry—"
"Buzz doesn't pay the bills," his father cut him off. "I've humored this long enough. It's time to get back to what works."
Nate stared at him, really looked at him, and for the first time, he didn't see the titan of publishing he had always admired. He saw an old man, scared of change, clinging desperately to the past.
"No," Nate said, his voice quiet but firm.
His father blinked, clearly not expecting this. "Excuse me?"
"I said no. I won't go back to the old way of doing things. Not when we're on the verge of something great."
His father's face contorted into a mask of rage. “You don't have a choice, Nathaniel. I'm still the CEO of this company."
"Then maybe it's time for new leadership," Nate said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
The silence that followed was deafening. His father stared at him, shock and anger warring on his face.
"Are you threatening me?" his father asked, his voice dangerously low.
"I'm telling you how it is. Either we move forward with this new approach, or..."
"Or what?"
Nate took a deep breath. "Or I walk. I'll leave Carlisle Publishing and start my own company. One that actually values its authors and isn't afraid of innovation."
His father laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You wouldn't dare. This company is your birthright, your legacy."
"A legacy I'm trying to protect and expand," Nate argued. "But if you can't see that, then maybe it's not the legacy I want."
They stood there, locked in a battle of wills. Years of unspoken resentments and expectations bubbled to the surface, making Nate's pulse pound.
Finally, his father spoke. "You're making a mistake, Nathaniel. A grave one."
"No, Dad. The mistake was thinking you'd ever be willing to change."
Nate turned to leave, his hand on the doorknob when his father's voice stopped him.
"If you walk out that door, don't bother coming back."
Nate paused, the weight of his father's words settling on his shoulders. But then he thought of Melody, of all the authors counting on them, of the vision they were fighting for.
"Goodbye, Dad," Nate said, not turning around.
As he walked out of his father's office, out of the building that had been his second home for so long, a mix of emotions swirled inside him. Fear, anger, disappointment—but also a strange sense of liberation.
He had just burned bridges he never thought he'd cross. His future at Carlisle Publishing hung by a thread. And Melody...
God, how the hell was he going to explain this to her?