Page 137 of Bad Prince
“Good,” she says, too quickly. “You’re there to build something. Not to become gossip.”
“I know.”
“You made an agreement when you left Harvard.”
I stiffen slightly.
“I’m aware.”
“You were going to focus. Rebuild. Position yourself.”
“I am.”
“I don’t want to see you trending for the wrong reasons again.”
There it is.
Not concern.
Brand management.
“I’ll handle it,” I say.
“You’d better.”
She hangs up first.
She always does.
I barely have time to slide my phone into my locker before I feel it.
The shift in air.
The weight of a presence.
“Son.”
I turn.
My father stands just inside the athletic complex doors, hands in the pockets of a navy sport coat that probably cost more than my first car.
Silver at the temples now.
Still sharp.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“Board meeting in Palo Alto,” he says casually. “We’re expanding into a venture capital arm. AI infrastructure.”
Translation—check in.“Mom just rang, literally.”
“We both have some concerns.”
We walk side by side down the corridor toward the empty auxiliary court. The echo of our footsteps feels loud.
“You look good,” he says.
“I feel good.”
