Just as I was processing my father' s ultimatum, Ethan reappeared, his face a mask of concern.
"Mr. Scott, Wesley," he said, his tone soft and reasonable. "Please, don' t argue. It' s a party."
He turned to my father. "Sir, maybe I can help. You have connections. We could get Wesley into a community college, maybe a trade school. It' s not too late for him to make something of himself."
He was positioning himself as the peacemaker, the responsible one, while twisting the knife. He wasn' t suggesting a path for me; he was cementing my status as a failure who needed charity.
My father looked at Ethan with pure admiration. "See, Wesley? This is what a real son does. He thinks about the family. He thinks about solutions."
Rufus then looked at me, his eyes filled with disappointment. "Ethan is right. A community college is more than you deserve, but it' s a start. It' s that or you' re out on the street."
The board members were watching this little family drama unfold. They nodded in approval at Ethan' s suggestion. They saw him as the stable, sensible choice. They saw me as a liability.
My father' s blind trust in Ethan, his complete dismissal of me, it all clicked. This wasn' t just a party. It was a public execution of my inheritance.