He smiled as he tossed the keys to the company office into his designer briefcase and said, smugly, “I own the company now — and every bit of real estate that comes with it.” I said nothing. Because it wasn’t about the money. It never was.
What he didn’t know — and what I didn’t know at the time — was that truck held more than memories. It held a message. A final word from my father. A silent, carefully planned gift.
A Son Who Chose His Own Path
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