Chapter 36 - The Load-Bearing Generation
Two years after Brenda’s passing, summer brought a milestone that filled my workshop with profound gratitude: Wyatt turned sixteen. He was nearly six feet tall now, possessing the broad, capable shoulders of a young man who worked with both his hands and his mind. His voice had settled into a resonant baritone, and during his summer break from high school, he had earned a competitive junior drafting internship at the Regional Transportation Commission, working on municipal transit overpasses.
On a warm Friday afternoon, I drove to the municipal administration complex downtown to pick Wyatt up after his shift. As I walked into the grand limestone atrium of the civic center, I spotted Wyatt standing near the indoor courtyard fountain, holding his leather portfolio tube. But he wasn't alone.
Standing opposite him, cornering him near the marble railing, was an older man in an ostentatious pinstripe suit, sporting dyed black hair, heavy gold rings, and the slick, restless energy of an unlicensed real estate speculator. I recognized him instantly from five years ago: Donald Kessler, one of Preston’s old "venture partners" who had invested twenty thousand dollars into Preston's defunct luxury streetwear scheme before the whole enterprise imploded into felony fraud.
I paused behind a fluted marble pillar, watching quietly. My paternal instinct urged me to stride forward and intervene, but my engineer’s mind told me to observe the test. Wyatt was no longer the seven-year-old boy huddled on Martha’s porch. He was a structure built on solid ground.
"Come on, kid, think about it," Kessler was saying, his voice dripping with sleazy persuasion. "Your dad’s firm has the prime engineering sign-off on the new northern light-rail bypass. All I need is an early look at the structural grade specifications before the municipal bidding window opens on Monday. Your uncle Preston and I had an understanding back in the day. Blood is blood, kid. I can put ten thousand dollars into an untraceable digital wallet for your college fund. Nobody ever has to know. You'd be helping out old friends of the family."
Wyatt didn't shift his feet. He didn't look nervous, he didn't fidget with his portfolio, and he didn't glance around to see if anyone was watching. He looked Kessler directly in the eye, his expression an uncanny mirror of my own calm, immovable gaze.
"Mr. Kessler," Wyatt said, his voice carrying clearly across the quiet atrium. "First of all, my uncle Preston is currently an inmate serving a multi-year sentence for grand larceny and elder exploitation, so invoking his business ethics is hardly an effective sales pitch. Second, attempting to solicit confidential municipal engineering specifications from a public intern constitutes felony procurement fraud under state administrative statutes."
Kessler blinked, his greasy smile freezing on his face. "Hey, whoa, kid, calm down! It was just a hypothetical question between friends—"
"We are not friends, Mr. Kessler," Wyatt cut him off, stepping forward with an authority that forced the older man back a half-step. "And my family does not build careers on compromised foundations. You have thirty seconds to leave this public building, or I will walk over to that security desk, hand the chief bailiff your business card, and file a formal solicitation report with the county prosecutor. Have a productive afternoon."
Kessler stared at my sixteen-year-old son in utter disbelief, his face flushing crimson with humiliation. Mumbling an incoherent curse, the speculator spun on his polished loafers and hurried out the glass revolving doors into the street.
I stepped out from behind the pillar, smiling. Wyatt turned, saw me standing there, and a bright, boyish grin broke across his face, instantly melting away the stern professional demeanor.
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"How long were you standing there, Dad?" he laughed, walking over and bumping his shoulder against mine.
"Long enough to see that the load calculations on your character are flawless, buddy," I said, putting my arm around his neck. "Come on. Let’s go get burgers. Your mom and Harper are waiting."
