Heir Born

7 | Nate

Music has always been a thing for me. Since I can remember.

The setup in my room doesn't give me away though. It paints a pretty grim yet expected picture of a boy who loves his sport — in this case, soccer — and is into his typical shit that guys like me would be into — music, video games, books, girls. The high life and expensive tastes typical of a legacy kid and heir to a multi-billion dollar fortune.

And then, there's the vinyls too. If anyone paid close enough attention, they'd notice the vinyls. That's that music. Of course, they come with a hefty price tag, but can one really put a price on the true, unfiltered art that is music? I think the fuck not.

Yeah, the vinyls are a dead giveaway as to how hardcore I go into the music.

Somehow, I managed to keep my passion a little secret, all to myself. Even at home. This is how I wound up taking private music lessons secretly without my parents' knowledge. Vanderbilt Manor is not a very encouraging environment when it comes to exploring a talent or two... unless they include obliterating your competition. Or anyone, really. Anyone who threatens the continued success of the empire.

Soccer, however. That's no secret. But still, my parents don't like it very much. For me, anyways. They think it's the worst possible activity I could have ever chosen. They would have preferred something a little more... intellectual or snobbish. What? I get to use the term snobbish because I'm in fact included under that category of humans, despite my continued rejection of the word and everything it stands for. I act out my rejection by rebelling. Small victories.

Anyway, the only reason my parents tolerate my even playing soccer is because I'm that good. I own the field. What parent wouldn't be proud, even if it means swallowing their pride for a little bit? So, they let me see it through right through prep school and high school, because I put the Vanderbilt name on the map in something that has nothing to do with politics or business. Money and power, maybe. Sure. But it's all on my own. Me. Yours truly. Nathaniel Christopher Vanderbilt.

According to my parents, my focus has to be on the family fortune I'm going to be responsible for once I'm done with my tertiary studies. That means I can't afford to get distracted by soccer and music. Charles and Eleanor will absolutely not have that under any circumstances. They call it 'allowing me the courtesy to have some fun for however long my ass can last without getting chucked out of Chaucer House' because I'm always causing shit apparently. Can you believe it? They think my soccer is nothing more than just "fun"?

Joke's on them. I've managed to prove their theory wrong so far and have not gotten myself kicked out of school. Granted, I probably should be grateful my father is now chair of the Board because those suspensions were piling up pretty wildly on my school record there. And I know Reynolds would have swiftly excluded me were it not for the major ass-kissing he's now determined to do when it comes to my parents.

So, this legacy kid decided the many battles with the soccer were enough of a war to last a lifetime. Or ten. That's why I kept the music under wraps.

As soon as I get home after practice, I head up to my room. I pass by my father's office and notice his desk lamp is on and the blinds are drawn. I check my watch. It's 6pm.

Shit. I lost track of time.

Okay. So I took the scenic route back home because I needed to clear my head after getting caught in Summer and the piano, and the singing. My parents don't usually give me a hard time about my comings and goings, especially on school nights. The deal is to continue to knock out those A's in class and they leave me be. I also negotiated for some freedom this last year of school because I've been such an exemplary and obedient son with my academics.