Chapter 46 – Rain, Reflection, and a Realization
Jake sat in the back seat of Judith's car, forehead pressed against the window as they drove through the winding roads toward Malibu. The sky was already turning gray, clouds rolling in heavy from the ocean. It had been a long week—hell, a long year—and he was only twelve.
But today, he wasn't a CEO. Not for the weekend, at least.
He had finalized the YouTube acquisition that morning. $680 million. Clean deal. The founders were thrilled, and Jake's legal team had already begun transferring backend control. FaceWorld now had a video-sharing platform to rival anything the world had seen.
Judith, however, wasn't impressed.
"You're pushing too hard, Jake," she said, eyes fixed on the road. "You barely sleep. You're snapping at people. You missed two meals this week."
Jake didn't look up.
"I'm fine."
"You're not. You're twelve. And I'm your mother. You can build an empire, but if you burn out before you're thirteen, what's the point?"
He sighed but didn't answer. Judith glanced at him, then reached over and squeezed his hand. She didn't push further.
When they arrived at Charlie's place, Alan greeted Jake with an unnervingly bright smile.
"Hey, sport. Guess what?"
Jake looked at his dad suspiciously.
"What."
"We're going camping this weekend! Just you and me. No tech, no boardrooms—just fresh air, father-son bonding, and maybe a few raccoons."
Jake blinked.
"You're kidding."
> "I already packed the tent."
Jake turned to his mom.
"You're seriously letting this happen?"
Judith just raised an eyebrow.
"Might be good for you."
Jake muttered something that definitely wasn't appropriate for a family car ride.
The rain started halfway into the drive up the coast. By the time they reached the campground, it was coming down in torrents.
Alan stepped out of the car with a heroic grin and popped the trunk.
"Nothing builds character like pitching a tent in the rain!"
Jake stayed in the car.
"You know what else builds character? Not getting pneumonia."
Alan was already trudging toward the muddy site with a borrowed tarp and a duffel bag. Jake groaned and followed, dragging his feet like a prisoner on the way to a life sentence.
Setting up the tent took forty-five minutes of pure misery. Jake slipped twice in the mud, the tarp collapsed three times, and Alan lost the tent stakes.
Inside the tent, the air was damp and smelled faintly of mildew and despair.
Alan pulled out a can of baked beans.
"Dinner?"
Jake glared.
"I have literally billions of dollars. I could buy a steakhouse. And you're offering me cold beans in a puddle."
"It's rustic!" Alan said cheerfully.
"It's tragic," Jake deadpanned.
Alan smiled and tried to lighten the mood.
"When I was your age, my dad took me camping once. We got lost in the woods for seven hours. Thought we were gonna die. But hey, we didn't! That's the spirit of adventure."
Jake raised an eyebrow.
"That explains so much."
"Come on, this is what father-son bonding's all about!"
"No, this is what psychological trauma's all about."
Alan laughed, but Jake didn't crack a smile. Not even close.
By morning, the rain hadn't stopped. It had somehow gotten worse.
Jake woke up in a puddle, cold and irritated. His sleeping bag was damp, his socks were soggy, and his mood had sunk to arctic levels.
Alan stood outside the tent, trying and failing to make coffee with a useless camp stove.
"Good morning! We survived the night!"
Jake groaned.
"Unfortunately."
They packed up slowly, both soaked and miserable. Jake didn't say a word the entire ride back to Malibu. He just stared out the fogged-up window, scowling.
Back inside the beach house, Jake peeled off his wet clothes, showered, and threw himself onto the couch with a blanket.
He didn't feel comforted.
He felt tired. Burnt out. Frustrated.
Eventually, he picked up his notebook and stared at the blank page.
Then he wrote:
"Hire a COO."
And underneath it:
"Never go camping again."
He closed the notebook.
He wasn't inspired. He wasn't recharged.
But at least he was dry.
And for now, that was enough.