Charles Woodrow Moore, my father an

Charles Woodrow Moore, my father and one of the most powerful men in the world, welcomed me to sit. He was spending a lot of time in his California office. Business was slow. There was only one reason for him to be there—to visit me—which worried me greatly.
He sat in a wooden monstrosity, a chair with no leather to speak of. It was like something he'd knocked together with bits of wood lying about. The man could afford a million-dollar chair if he wished. As he sat upon that uncomfortable throne with his withered hair and wisps of gray left, his pale blue eyes similar to mine, he looked ready to keel over. He held on only through sheer willpower.
Southern coastline spread out behind him on a cloudless day. There would be no meetings, only running through mindless business papers...along with tackling the problems with his only heir. We were far from the traffic and smog of the city. Far from anything, really. There was only us and our problems.
“Lucas, how are you?”
I chewed my bottom lip and looked away. The idea of my father trying to be friendly left a sour taste in my mouth. It was downright creepy.
“You can skip the pleasantries, Dad. What do you need me for?”
“I do care about you, Lucas. You seem to think I don't sometimes.”
I leaned forward, pressing my thumbs together. “I know. I'm sorry. That wasn't fair. What did you need me for? I have to admit, I'm curious.”
“You're not going to make it easy on me,” he said gruffly, standing up from his desk. He looked thinner since the last time I saw him. He still paced with the energy of an eighteen year old.
“Afraid not.”
“I only do this because I care about you.”
“Nothing good can come after that sentence,” I groaned. I leaned back in my seat, placed my arms flat against the leather arms, and prepared to be annoyed.
My father's blood began to boil. His pallor skin turned a slight shade of pink. This was what I was used to. Disappointment. Frustration. Pain.
He tried to hold back, but seeing him straining so hard only made it worse. “I don't think you're going to like this, but oh well. You’re how old, now? Thirty-three years old? Isn't that right?”
I nodded. I waited.
“I've been waiting a long time for you to come around, but it seems like it'll never happen. I thought maybe this was a phase, but I'm beginning to think that you really don't care.” He paused. He leveled with me. “You don't care about this company, do you?”
“I care,” I protested.
“Show me you care,” he said, exasperated. He crouched against the table as if my words were physically weakening him.
“What do you need?”
“What I've been asking from you for years. Take an active role in the business. Find a woman. Settle down. Have children. Then we can begin to talk about the transferring of the company when I'm gone. I won't be here forever.”
“Neither will I.”
He groaned and sat back down, not before working his fingers into his temples. He turned to a picture on his desk, the one of my brother, Brice, who had been dead for five years. For once in this awkward meeting, I was ashamed.
I couldn't look at Brice, smiling at me, seemingly so carefree, when I knew the truth. The burden had been too much for him.
Why couldn't I carry it? For my father? For Brice, in his memory? I couldn't even try.
“Your brother is gone.” he said grimly, like I didn't know that already. “Which means if you can't show me that this business is important to you, I'm going to have to hand over everything to one of your cousins. And I really don't want to do that.”
Our business meant everything to my dad. Just like it meant everything to his dad, Larry Woodrow Moore, who created the LWM Company and turned it into one of the richest oil producers and refiners in the world. To see his younger son throw it all away, after the older broke under the pressure, was a nightmare come true.
I didn't want to see the company transferred over to one of my uppity cousins, either.
“What do you need?” I asked him.
“I thought you might need some help, so I've arranged time off for you. You'll be out for as long as this takes.”
I tapped the armrest impatiently. “As long as what takes?”
“I've arranged a group of eligible women to meet you. You’ll be getting to know them. In the end, one will become your wife. You will have a child with her. Maybe even children. Your attendance to company functions will be required as well.”
I ran my fingers through my hair, but didn’t get to the end before I snagged a fistful, squeezing, building pressure hitting insurmountable limits. “You’re not serious, are you?” When he didn’t respond, I seethed, “This is like some twisted reality show. You’re not going to have cameras following me around, are you?”

Hasil (Bahasa Indonesia) 1:

Charles Moore Woodrow, ayah saya dan salah satu yang paling berkuasa di dunia, menyambut saya untuk duduk. Dia menghabiskan banyak waktu di kantornya California. Bisnis adalah lambat. Ada hanya satu alasan baginya untuk berada di sana — untuk mengunjungi saya-yang sangat khawatir saya.Dia duduk di monstrositas kayu, kursi kulit tidak berbicara tentang. Rasanya seperti sesuatu yang dia telah mengetuk dengan potongan-potongan kayu yang berbohong tentang. Orang bisa membeli kursi juta dolar jika dia berharap. Saat dia duduk atas takhta itu tidak nyaman dengan rambut layu dan gumpalan abu-abu kiri, matanya biru pucat sama dengan saya, dia tampak siap untuk keel. Ia berlangsung hanya melalui semata-mata kemauan.Pantai Selatan tersebar belakangnya pada berdesak. Tidak akan ada pertemuan, hanya berjalan melalui Surat Bisnis mindless... bersama dengan mengatasi masalah dengan satunya ahli waris. Kami berada jauh dari lalu lintas dan asap kota. Jauh dari apa pun, benar-benar. Ada hanya kita dan masalah kita."Lucas, bagaimana kabarmu?"Aku mengunyah bibir bawah dan memalingkan. Ide dari ayah saya berusaha untuk menjadi ramah meninggalkan rasa asam di mulut saya. Itu benar-benar menyeramkan."Anda dapat melewatkan basa-basi, ayah. Apa Apakah Anda perlu saya untuk?""Saya peduli tentang Anda, Lucas. Anda tampaknya berpikir saya kadang-kadang tidak."Aku membungkuk ke depan, menekan ibu jari bersama-sama. "Aku tahu. Maaf. Itu tidak adil. Apa Apakah Anda membutuhkan aku untuk? Aku harus mengakui, aku ingin tahu."“You're not going to make it easy on me,” he said gruffly, standing up from his desk. He looked thinner since the last time I saw him. He still paced with the energy of an eighteen year old.“Afraid not.”“I only do this because I care about you.”“Nothing good can come after that sentence,” I groaned. I leaned back in my seat, placed my arms flat against the leather arms, and prepared to be annoyed.My father's blood began to boil. His pallor skin turned a slight shade of pink. This was what I was used to. Disappointment. Frustration. Pain.He tried to hold back, but seeing him straining so hard only made it worse. “I don't think you're going to like this, but oh well. You’re how old, now? Thirty-three years old? Isn't that right?”I nodded. I waited.“I've been waiting a long time for you to come around, but it seems like it'll never happen. I thought maybe this was a phase, but I'm beginning to think that you really don't care.” He paused. He leveled with me. “You don't care about this company, do you?”“I care,” I protested.“Show me you care,” he said, exasperated. He crouched against the table as if my words were physically weakening him.“What do you need?”“What I've been asking from you for years. Take an active role in the business. Find a woman. Settle down. Have children. Then we can begin to talk about the transferring of the company when I'm gone. I won't be here forever.”“Neither will I.”He groaned and sat back down, not before working his fingers into his temples. He turned to a picture on his desk, the one of my brother, Brice, who had been dead for five years. For once in this awkward meeting, I was ashamed.I couldn't look at Brice, smiling at me, seemingly so carefree, when I knew the truth. The burden had been too much for him.Why couldn't I carry it? For my father? For Brice, in his memory? I couldn't even try.“Your brother is gone.” he said grimly, like I didn't know that already. “Which means if you can't show me that this business is important to you, I'm going to have to hand over everything to one of your cousins. And I really don't want to do that.”Our business meant everything to my dad. Just like it meant everything to his dad, Larry Woodrow Moore, who created the LWM Company and turned it into one of the richest oil producers and refiners in the world. To see his younger son throw it all away, after the older broke under the pressure, was a nightmare come true.I didn't want to see the company transferred over to one of my uppity cousins, either.“What do you need?” I asked him.“I thought you might need some help, so I've arranged time off for you. You'll be out for as long as this takes.”I tapped the armrest impatiently. “As long as what takes?”“I've arranged a group of eligible women to meet you. You’ll be getting to know them. In the end, one will become your wife. You will have a child with her. Maybe even children. Your attendance to company functions will be required as well.”I ran my fingers through my hair, but didn’t get to the end before I snagged a fistful, squeezing, building pressure hitting insurmountable limits. “You’re not serious, are you?” When he didn’t respond, I seethed, “This is like some twisted reality show. You’re not going to have cameras following me around, are you?”