Tipping the Balance by Christopher Koehler Page B

this. He hunched over, as if he could protect himself and his plan at the same time. “It’s a chance to get in on the ground floor of something, a chance to grow into the job as the job grows.”
     
    Randall rolled his eyes. “And you’ll do this and work at Suburban Symphony, how?”
     
    “Like I said, I’d have to work at the sales office half time,” Brad admitted, still defensive, “but be honest. Suburban Symphony is doomed. It’s not like my working there half time will cut into sales. You could put some intern in there the rest of the time, or even go ‘appointment only’ and have me on call.”
     
    “Yes, that’ll work very well,” Randall said, making a face to show his sons just what he thought of what he saw as Brad’s latest harebrained idea.
     
    “It might, actually,” Philip said. When Randall glared at him, he continued, “Dad, that place has more problems than Brad—or anyone—can solve easily, and you know it. You wanted to put Brad in there, and I went along with it, but cut him some slack, for once. It’s an interesting opportunity he’s been presented with.”
     
    “That place is a wreck, and the plans to preserve it are doomed from the start. They should just admit that they’ve screwed around too long and lost it, just like they did with the old town. The city should tear it down and either preserve the façade in a new building or build something new and modern from the foundation up,” Randall said. “But this? This is idiocy.”
     
    Randall glared at his oldest son, but Philip stood his ground. “He needs to make his own way. You’ve got the heir, so let the spare go.”
     
    Randall nodded his head slowly. “I see. Fine. You go right ahead, Bradley. This project is doomed to failure, just like everything else you’ve ever touched. You’ll come crawling back, you’ll see.”
     
    Brad and Philip were silent as their dad set his coffee cup in the sink and stalked out of the kitchen.
     
    “Thanks, Philip. It’s been a long time since you stood up for me.”
     
    Philip shrugged. “Maybe too long. At least one of us has a chance to get away from him. Don’t screw this up, Brad, or he’ll never let either of us forget it.”
     

Chapter Nine

     

     
    With a brimming commuter mug in one hand, Brad drove down to Suburban Graveyard to spend his Saturday watching tumbleweeds blow by in the hot summer wind. Lately, he did his best thinking in the car. It was relatively free of distractions, and thanks to the ban in California on driving and cell phone use, he had an excuse for turning his phone off.
     
    At least one of us has a chance to get away from him.
     
    Philip’s words were fresh in Brad’s mind. He and Philip had been close as kids but had grown apart as they grew up. Once their mom died, Philip had clung pretty tightly to their dad. No, he corrected himself, that was when Randall began grooming Philip to take over the business. By any objective sense, Philip had done well at Sundstrom Homes, working his way up to a vice president.
     
    It had never occurred to Brad that Philip’s place in their father’s regard came at a price, although, he thought dryly, the fact that Philip still lived at home, too, should’ve been an indicator the two were in the same boat.
     
    But Philip had gone to bat for him. He still couldn’t get over it. It made him all the more resolved to strike out on his own.
     
    He got the office open, the signs out, the jaunty helium balloons filled from the small tank in the back room and out by the road, bobbing in the breeze. “Pig, meet lipstick.”
     
    The morning startup routine observed, Brad sat down at his desk and fired up the computer. While he waited for it to boot, he pulled out his phone to call Drew.
     
    Then he stopped. No. He’d spend the weekend doing some research on contractor’s education and licensing and on the preservation of historical buildings. Then he’d call Drew Sunday afternoon.
     
    Pulling