Chapter 4
Back inside the warm leather interior of the car, the atmosphere was thick with an unbearable, suffocating silence. Leo sat in the far corner of the backseat, staring out the window at the blurred lights of the city streetlights, clutching his bare hands together as if still holding the missing folder. Arthur sat in the front passenger seat, the heater blasting warm air onto his damp clothes, while Julian drove with a steady, unhurried precision.
Arthur’s phone buzzed aggressively in his breast pocket. He pulled it out, and his stomach dropped. A local news aggregator app had already pushed a notification featuring a shaky vertical video thumbnail: Vance & Associates CEO Melts Down at Academy Assembly, Assaults Son Over School Project. The video was already trending, accompanied by thousands of comments dissecting his posture, his angry expression, and the exact moment he threw the green paper onto the floor.
"It's already online," Arthur whispered, more to himself than to the other two occupants.
"Let it burn," Julian said without taking his eyes off the road. "Sunshine is the best disinfectant, Arthur. For too long, you’ve hidden behind boardrooms, legal teams, and PR firms to sanitize your life. Maybe seeing your ugly reality reflected back at you on a screen is the wake-up call you desperately need."
Arthur switched the phone off with a trembling thumb and tossed it into the glove compartment. He turned his head slowly to look back at his son. "Leo," he began, his voice faltering slightly as he tried to find a register that didn't sound like a corporate memo. "I... I'm sorry about what happened back there."
Leo didn't turn around right away. He kept his forehead pressed against the cold glass, his breath fogging the surface. When he finally looked back, his eyes were remarkably clear, carrying an emotional weight no twelve-year-old should ever have to bear. "You didn't just embarrass me, Dad," Leo said, his voice surprisingly steady. "You threw away Grandma’s sketches. I worked on those for months because I wanted you to notice that I can do something you used to love before you became like this."
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The words hit Arthur like a physical blow, knocking the wind straight out of him. He had spent years believing he was shielding his son from disappointment, only to discover he had become the exact source of it. He wanted to reach back, to offer an explanation about the investors, the pressure, the legacy of the firm, but every excuse tasted like ash in his mouth.
Julian pulled the car to a smooth stop in the driveway of their sprawling, impeccably manicured suburban estate. The house was a monument to modern architectural minimalism—stark white walls, vast expanses of glass, and absolute, chilling emptiness. There were no family photos on the walls, no messy piles of shoes by the door, no warmth. It was a showroom, not a home.
