Infinite Cashback System

David nodded once. The conversation had been conducted and the terms had been established. That was how David McKnight operated. He didn’t circle topics. He didn’t soften his language. He landed on the point and stayed there until the other person acknowledged it, then moved forward.

"What about school," David said.

"What about it."

"You going to finish."

"Yes."

"Both of you?"

"That’s the plan. Chloe’s on scholarship. She can’t afford to drop out."

David’s eyes moved to Jordan. "Can’t afford to, or won’t."

"Both."

"And you. You’re paying out-of-state tuition at a private university. Forty-five thousand a year. Your mother and I budgeted for four years. We did not budget for four years plus a baby plus a business venture plus whatever else you’ve got cooking that you haven’t told us about yet."

The gum had lost its flavor. Jordan kept chewing anyway.

"I’m not going to ask you and Mom for money," Jordan said.

David went very still.

"I have income," Jordan continued. "The business is generating revenue. The property generates revenue. I’m not living off your tuition payments anymore, Dad. I mean, the tuition itself, yes, and I’m grateful for that, and I will finish my degree. But the apartment, food, clothes, baby expenses, that’s on me."

David studied his son’s face the way he studied inventory reports. Looking for shortages. Looking for numbers that didn’t add up.

"You’re eighteen years old and you’re telling me you can financially support a girlfriend, a baby, and a business while attending university full-time."

"Yes."

"And I’m supposed to believe that."

"You can believe whatever you want. I’m telling you what’s true."

David’s jaw worked. Not anger. Something else. Jordan had seen this expression only a handful of times in his life, once when he was eleven and hit a home run in little league after striking out all season, once when Cassie got into Stanford and called home crying from the admissions office, and once three weeks ago when Jordan had called from his car outside a barbershop to apologize for four months of being a disappointment.

"Show me," David said.

"Show you what."

"Your numbers. Your revenue. Your expenses. If you’re going to sit here and tell me you can carry a family on whatever this enterprise is, then prove it. Not because I don’t trust you. Because I didn’t build three stores from nothing by trusting people. I built them by checking receipts."

Jordan pulled out his phone. Not the golden interface. Not the System. The regular banking app, the one Brooke had helped him set up with separate accounts for personal, business, and the onsen revenue that he still refused to touch. He opened the business account and turned the screen toward his father.

David took the phone. His eyes moved across the numbers with the speed of a man who balanced registers every night. Deposits, withdrawals, recurring revenue, expense categories. Jordan watched his father’s face and saw the moment the total registered.

David’s thumb scrolled up. Scrolled down. He tapped one transaction, read the details, tapped another.

"This is real," David said. Not a question.

"Yes sir."

"Content creation. Talent management. Sponsorship revenue."

"That’s the business side. The property income is separate. I keep them in different accounts."

David returned the phone. He sat with the information for what felt like a full minute, his hands on his knees, his eyes on the parking lot where Susan and Chloe had reappeared. They stood beside the Camry talking, Susan’s hand on Chloe’s arm, Chloe’s posture relaxed and genuine in a way Jordan only saw when Chloe forgot to perform.

"When I was your age," David said, "I was stocking shelves at a 7-Eleven and saving up for a used Honda. I didn’t have a business. I didn’t have property. I had a W-2 and a dream about maybe someday owning one store."

"You did more than that."

"I did. Took me twenty years. You’ve done it in six weeks."

Jordan didn’t respond. There was nothing to say that wouldn’t sound like bragging or lying.

"I don’t understand how," David said. "Cassie doesn’t understand how. Your mother doesn’t care how because your mother sees results and feelings and doesn’t require the math to connect them." He turned to look at Jordan directly. "I require the math. And the math doesn’t make sense."

"I know."

"That’s not an explanation."

"It’s the only one I have right now."

David held his gaze for a long count. Five seconds. Ten. Jordan did not look away. Three months ago, this stare would have broken him. He would have started talking, over-explaining, filling the silence with excuses and apologies.

Jordan just sat there and let his father look.

"Your mother was right," David said finally. "You sound different. You look different. You are different." He stood from the concrete wall, brushing the seat of his jeans with one hand. "I don’t know what happened to you in January. I don’t know if you’ll ever tell me. But you called me from a parking lot and you apologized, and you meant it, and that was enough for me to stop asking questions for a while."

"And now?"

"Now you’re telling me you got your girlfriend pregnant after six weeks and you’re not scared."

"I’m terrified, Dad."

David looked down at him.

"I’m terrified every single day," Jordan said. "I wake up scared that I’ll revert to who I was. Scared that I’ll screw this up. Scared that the people who trust me will find out I don’t deserve it."

The parking lot went quiet. Even the freeway sounded far away.

"But I’m showing up," Jordan said. "Every day I show up. I go to class. I train. I work. I come home to the people who chose me and I try to be worth choosing. That’s all I’ve got."

David stood there for a moment longer, his calloused hands at his sides, the security light carving deep lines into his face. Then he reached down and put his hand on the back of Jordan’s neck, the same way he used to when Jordan was eight years old and afraid of the dark, a grip that was firm and rough and said everything David McKnight could never figure out how to say with his mouth.

"That’s enough," David said. "For now."

He released Jordan’s neck and started walking toward the Camry where Susan and Chloe waited. After three steps, he stopped.

"Get the prenup," he said without turning around. "And call your mother more than once a month."

"Yes sir."

"And Jordan."

"Yeah."

David looked over his shoulder. In the amber light, his gray eyes held something Jordan had been chasing for eighteen years and had never quite caught.

"You’re going to be a good father."