Amelia hosts a dinner party for key investors and media figures. Patrick feels out of place and becomes the subject of condescending remarks from one of Amelia's colleagues. The incident escalates into a public argument, embarrassing Amelia.
The long dining table in Amelia Walsh's mansion gleamed under the warm light of an elaborate chandelier. Each place setting was meticulously arranged with fine china and crystal glasses, and the centerpiece a cascade of fresh white lilies exudes elegance. To Patrick Walsh, it all felt like an alien ritual, one he wasn't sure he belonged in.
He adjusted the stiff collar of the dress shirt Amelia had insisted he wear and glanced around the room. The guests were a mix of Amelia's key investors, influential media figures, and high-ranking executives, all impeccably dressed and engaged in light banter. Their laughter seemed rehearsed, their conversations polished to the point of sterility. Patrick felt out of place, his presence a glaring contradiction to the polished ambiance.
Amelia, ever the consummate host, floated between groups of guests with effortless grace. She wore a sleek black dress that hugged her figure, her hair swept into an elegant updo. Her laughter rang out at just the right moments, her tone shifting seamlessly to match the cadence of those around her. Yet Patrick, who had raised her, could see the strain behind her smile.
When Amelia finally made her way to him, she placed a hand on his arm and whispered, "You're doing fine, Dad. Just try to enjoy the evening."
Patrick gave her a tight smile. "I'd enjoy it more if I knew what half these folks were talking about."
"Just be yourself," Amelia said, though her tone carried a hint of warning. She straightened and turned back to the group nearest them. "Everyone, this is my father, Patrick Walsh. He's the reason I'm here tonight, my first and greatest mentor."
A murmur of polite greetings followed, and Patrick managed a nod and a gruff "Evening." He noticed one man in particular, a sharply dressed executive with a perpetually smug expression eyeing him with thinly veiled condescension.
"Patrick, was it?" the man asked, swirling the wine in his glass. "So, you're the genius behind Rustwood's famous mechanic shop?"
Patrick stiffened at the tone but kept his voice even. "I wouldn't call it famous, but it's kept folks running for a few decades."
The man chuckled, an edge of derision in his voice. "That's quite the leap, isn't it? From fixing tractors to influencing the future of tech. Must be an interesting adjustment."
Patrick met the man's gaze evenly. "Work's work. Doesn't matter if it's under a hood or behind a desk. You figure out what's broken and fix it."
A few chuckles rippled through the group, though not everyone's amusement seemed kind. Amelia quickly stepped in, her tone light but firm. "My father's modest, but he's built more than a few things that shaped who I am today."
"Oh, I don't doubt it," the man replied, raising his glass in mock acknowledgment. "It's just... fascinating to see how different generations approach success."
Patrick's jaw tightened. "Success isn't about approaches. It's about whether you get the job done."
Amelia's smile faltered, and she quickly turned the conversation to another topic, but the tension lingered. Patrick's mood darkened as he moved through the evening, nodding politely but saying little. He felt like a curiosity on display, a relic from a simpler world these people couldn't understand or didn't want to.
When dinner was served, Patrick found himself seated between Amelia and the same smug executive, whose name he had learned was Victor Chang. The conversation inevitably circled back to Rustwood and the Walsh Tech initiative.
"It's quite the gamble," Victor said, cutting into his steak. "A small town like Rustwood trying to adapt to modern tech. You're not worried about resistance, Mr. Walsh?"
Patrick set down his fork. "Resistance is part of any change. Doesn't mean you don't try."
"True," Victor replied, his tone dripping with insincerity. "But some would say it's better to focus efforts on areas more... receptive to innovation."
Patrick leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing. "You're saying Rustwood isn't worth the effort?"
Victor smiled faintly. "Not at all. Just that some battles aren't worth fighting."
Amelia's voice cut through the growing tension, calm but edged. "Rustwood isn't a battle, Victor. It's an opportunity. And it's worth every bit of effort we put into it."
Victor raised his hands in mock surrender. "Of course, Amelia. If anyone can make it work, it's you."
Patrick could feel his temper rising, but he forced himself to stay quiet. The rest of the dinner passed in a haze of polite conversation, though Patrick's patience was wearing thin. By the time dessert was served, he was ready to leave.
As the guests began to filter out, Victor approached him again, a glass of scotch in hand. "No hard feelings, Mr. Walsh. Just business, you understand."
Patrick looked him square in the eye. "Yeah, I understand plenty."
Amelia appeared at his side, her expression tense. "Victor, I think it's time you called it a night."
Victor smirked, offering a shallow bow. "As you wish."
When he was gone, Amelia turned to Patrick, her voice low but sharp. "What was that?"
"What was what?" Patrick shot back. "I didn't start anything."
"You didn't have to," Amelia said, her frustration evident. "This was supposed to be a chance to build relationships, and now I'm going to spend the next week smoothing things over."
Patrick frowned, his earlier anger giving way to guilt. "I'm sorry if I made things harder for you. But I'm not going to sit there and let someone talk down about Rustwood or about us."
Amelia sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I know, Dad. I just... It's complicated."
Patrick softened. "I get it. And I'll try to stay out of your way next time."
Amelia glanced at him, her expression unreadable. "It's not about staying out of the way. It's about understanding the stakes."
Patrick nodded slowly, the weight of her words settling over him. "Maybe we both have a little more understanding to do."
The two stood in silence for a moment before Amelia excused herself to see off the last of her guests. Patrick lingered by the dining room window, staring out at the sprawling city lights. He felt further from home than ever, but somewhere in the distance, he could still see the flicker of Rustwood's quiet strength.