His Real Son

"Who prepared this?" I asked.

Ethan pulled out a chair. "Does it matter?"

"It asks me to resign as CEO and acknowledge that the transition has my full support. Since neither is true, yes, it matters."

Dad remained standing. "A friend helped us put it together. It's a courtesy, Lisa. We don't need to turn this into an ordeal."

I slid the document away from me.

"I'm not signing it."

Ethan looked at Dad. Dad looked at Paul.

"This really is a family conversation."

Paul closed his laptop but did not stand. "The document concerns a corporate position. Lisa asked me to attend."

Dad's jaw tightened. Then he sat.

"You seem to think we're throwing you out. We're not. Ethan needs your experience. You could stay on as senior adviser."

"Doing what?"

"Helping him understand operations. Maintaining the client relationships. Making sure there aren't disruptions."

"Those are things I do now."

"You wouldn't have the same administrative burden."

"Which responsibilities would Ethan assume?"

My brother opened his portfolio. There were no notes inside, only a pen and a printed copy of the email he had sent that morning.

"Strategy," he said. "Growth. The big picture."

"We have a strategy. Which part would you change?"

"I'm not giving you a presentation in your office."

"You came here asking me to help you run the company. I'm asking what you intend to do."

"I intend to stop having everything go through you."

The words came quickly enough to surprise even him.

Dad cleared his throat. "We all need to be willing to adapt."

I watched him smooth the crease in his trousers. When I was nine, I had sat beside him on a school stage while he accepted an award for community service. Someone asked what adopting me had taught him.

He said love had no color.

I had kept the newspaper clipping for years.

"Is there a problem with my performance?" I asked.

"Of course not."

"Have I failed to meet the targets the board approved?"

"No," Paul said.

Dad turned toward him. "I was answering."

"Then answer," I said.

He drew himself up. "You have done good work. That doesn't mean you're entitled to decide the future of everything I built."

"You've asked me to decide its future every time it was in trouble."

"Because you had the right skills."

"And I stopped having them last night?"

"Stop twisting what I'm saying."

Ethan leaned forward. "Maybe he wants something left for me. Have you considered that? You already get all the attention here."

"You own ten percent of this company. You've had opportunities to work here."

"Junior positions."

"Positions you could learn from."

"I'm not spending years answering to people who work for my father."

Paul's expression did not change. Mine must have, because Dad held up a hand.

"Ethan doesn't have your temperament."

I almost laughed. "You mean he'll refuse, and I'll do it anyway."

"I mean you've always been responsible."

"That used to sound like a compliment."

For the first time, Dad looked uncertain. It passed when Ethan shifted beside him.

"I'm getting older," Dad said. "I have to think about my real son's future."

The room became very still.

He glanced at Paul, then back at me.

"My biological son. You know what I meant."

I did. That was the problem.

"Where does my future fit?" I asked.

"You've never had trouble finding your way. Ethan needs a little more help."

"So you give him my job."

"It's not that simple."

"Then explain the