Chapter 16 - The Gathering in South Bend
The gravel driveway crunched beneath our tires as I parked my sedan directly behind Meline’s SUV. I cut the engine, the sudden silence of the night wrapping around the car like a heavy blanket. My palms were dry this time, my breathing steady. I pushed the door open and stepped out into the crisp Indiana air.
Meline was already out of her vehicle, walking toward the porch with her hands tucked into the pockets of her camel-hair coat. Thomas Vanguard lowered his cane with a soft *thud* against the wooden floorboards, his weary eyes lighting up as his daughter approached the steps.
“You brought him,” Thomas said, his voice raspy but clear, carrying easily across the quiet yard as I walked up behind Meline.
“I did, Dad,” Meline said, stopping at the base of the steps and turning to look back at me. She extended her hand, her fingers wrapping around mine with a reassuring squeeze. Together, we walked up the wooden stairs onto the porch.
Thomas looked at me, his gaze searching my face not with the bitterness of a wronged employee or a ruined industrialist, but with the quiet, penetrating wisdom of a man who had survived his own share of catastrophes.
“Arthur,” Thomas said, nodding slowly. “You look different than you did at the Thanksgiving table.”
I swallowed hard, stepping forward and offering my hand. Thomas took it, his grip surprisingly firm despite his frail health. “I am different, Mr. Vanguard,” I said, my voice unwavering. “Or rather... I’m finally trying to become the man I should have been all along.”
Thomas let out a low, gravelly chuckle, shaking his head. “Pride is a heavy coat in the winter, son. Takes a lot of freezing before people realize they’re wearing it. Meline tells me you’ve been working hard in Detroit. Real work. Not boardrooms and inherited titles.”
May you like
“Accounting ledgers and junior audits,” I admitted, a self-deprecating smile touching my lips. “Turns out, when you have to count every dollar you earn, you start respecting where they come from.”
“Good,” Thomas said, clapping a frail hand gently on my shoulder. “A business built on paper and pedigree collapses the second the wind blows. A business built on sweat and honesty outlasts the storm. Come inside. Your mother-in-law made pot roast, and frankly, we have a lot of logistics to discuss if you're planning on surviving in Meline’s new world.”
