A Baxter's Redemption

“You’ll have to bring us some of your chocolates, Isabel.” Britney broke the silence. “I’ve never tried them, and I’ve been craving chocolate something fierce with this pregnancy.”

“They’re good,” Mr. Baxter said, around a bite of food. “A nice hobby for her.”

Isabel smiled tightly.

“Speaking of business—” Mr. Baxter began.

“We weren’t speaking of business,” Isabel replied, her tone even, but a look of warning sparkling in her eyes.

“We’re always speaking of business,” the older man replied. “It’s like breathing. But have you done the research, Princess?”

“We’ve already discussed this,” she said, putting down her fork with a clink. “Not now.”

“Why not now?” Mr. Baxter looked around the table. “It’s family. What’s the problem?”

“James isn’t family,” she replied tersely.

She had a point. James sat back in his seat, watching the strained expressions around the table. He’d been in courtrooms that were more relaxed.

His employer shrugged. “He’s a lawyer. His job is to be discreet. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

“Fine. Since in this family, all we talk about is business,” she replied icily, “what were you going to say?”

“I was going to ask if you know how many small businesses fail after starting up.” Mr. Baxter swirled a speared potato through a puddle of gravy and popped it into his mouth.

“You didn’t fail,” Isabel replied. “You’re a raving success, I’d say.”

“James?” Mr. Baxter turned his attention toward him, and James heaved a sigh. They were quickly coming to the reason for his invitation. Like Britney’s cooking, Mr. Baxter’s research was never done personally.

“Forty-seven percent,” James replied.

“And in the food industry?”

“More than that.” He was doing Isabel a favor by not mentioning the number.

“Chocolate is a niche market,” Mr. Baxter said, wiping his lips on a napkin. “It’s high cost, low margin. The real estate market has the highest rates of success.”

“I’m aware of that, Dad,” Isabel replied stiffly.

“Now, James, if you were to advise my little girl about starting up a business, what would you tell her?” Mr. Baxter asked.

Isabel turned her glittering eyes to him, daring him to speak. He could feel the repressed rage radiating from her, and he had to swallow twice before he spoke.

“I’d tell her to ask her father’s advice,” he replied cautiously.

“Aha! Smart man.” Mr. Baxter chuckled. “Pass the green beans, please, Britney.”

Britney passed the dish, and he helped himself to another serving.

“And you would tell her to ask my advice because I’ve made money, right? Because it takes a success to know how to be successful.”

“You’ve also lost money,” Isabel countered. “You went bankrupt when you and Mom first got married.”

Mr. Baxter’s eyes darkened, and he dropped the spoon back into the bowl with a clatter. Red crept up his neck and into his cheeks. James had never seen Mr. Baxter openly challenged before, and he found himself mildly concerned that the older man might pop a blood vessel.

“I paid for this home, for every stitch of clothing you ever wore, for all of your beauty contest coaching, for your vacations, your hobbies, your shiny Yale education...and you dare throw my failures in my face?” He sucked in a breath through his nose. “I’m your father, and you don’t have a penny except by what I’ve earned! Show some respect, young lady!”