Chapter 6 - The Meeting My Father Wasn't Invited To
Rebecca Sterling arrived precisely at ten.
She was forty-three, wore a dark business suit, and carried a folder thick enough to make me nervous.
Melissa sat beside me.
Priya took the seat across from Rebecca.
No one ordered coffee.
That told me the meeting was serious.
Rebecca opened her folder.
"I want to begin by apologizing."
I raised an eyebrow.
"For what?"
"My company relied on representations made by Lionel Price that we now believe were misleading."
Priya leaned forward.
"Please be specific."
Rebecca slid a document across the table.
It was a preliminary agreement.
Seller:
Brookfield Residential Holdings LLC.
Buyer:
Sterling Development Group.
Purchase consideration:
Two million six hundred thousand dollars.
I stared.
Rebecca continued.
"Lionel represented that his company was acquiring the parcel from the current owner."
"Me," I said.
"Yes."
"He didn't own it."
"We now understand that."
Priya examined the document.
"Was a deposit paid?"
"Not to Lionel. Our counsel held the proposed deposit pending title confirmation."
Good.
At least somebody had been careful.
Rebecca continued.
"We discovered the discrepancy during due diligence."
"So why meet with me?"
"Because we still want the property."
I leaned back.
"At what price?"
She smiled slightly.
"That depends on the terms."
Melissa joined in.
"The property is being marketed. Any offer needs to account for the current occupancy agreement, title resolution, and appropriate timing."
Rebecca nodded.
"I understand."
Priya looked at her.
"And no side agreements with Mr. Mercer’s family."
"Agreed."
For the first time, I realized how close my father had come to succeeding.
Had I signed that authorization form, he might have obtained legal power to negotiate a transaction on my behalf.
Had the forged deed slipped through, resolving the mess could have taken months or worse.
Had I believed him when he said family should trust family, I might have handed him the very document he needed.
Rebecca eventually offered a legitimate purchase proposal.
The price was better than anything I expected when I originally called Melissa.
But I didn't sign immediately.
Clare had asked me something the previous evening.
"Do you even want to sell?"
I'd answered yes.
Then she said:
"Make sure you're selling because you want to. Not because you need your father to suffer."
That distinction mattered.
I called her after the meeting.
"How did it go?" she asked.
"They made an offer."
"Good?"
"Very."
"Are you happy?"
I looked at the documents.
"I think so."
"Then come home."
"Why?"
"Because your daughter just kicked me hard enough to rearrange my organs."
I laughed.
"That sounds expensive."
"She takes after your family."
"Unfair."
"Accurate."
That evening, we sat on our back porch eating takeout.
Clare rested her feet on a cushion.
I watched the sunset.
"Two point six million," I said.
She nearly dropped her fork.
"What?"
I explained the offer.
She stared.
"Your father planned to buy it for nine hundred thousand?"
"Yes."
"And resell it immediately?"
"That appears to have been the plan."
She shook her head.
"How much debt does Tessa really have?"
"Two hundred and ten thousand, according to Dad."
"Then he wasn't just rescuing her."
"No."
"He was planning to enrich himself."
"Yes."
Clare went quiet.
Then she looked at me.
"Ian, I'm glad you found out."
"So am I."
"But I don't want our daughter growing up inside this war."
I reached for her hand.
"Neither do I."
We decided that whatever happened with the sale, our future would not depend on humiliating my family.
We would pursue the legal issues.
Protect our privacy.
Complete the transaction properly.
And stop giving them unlimited access to our lives.
The following morning, my father arrived at my restaurant.
He was alone.
No Tessa.
No camera.
No dramatic audience.
For a moment, I almost believed he had come to apologize.
He sat opposite me.
"Ian."
"Dad."
He looked exhausted.
"I heard Sterling contacted you."
"Yes."
"That wasn't supposed to happen."
I stared.
Interesting opening.
"What wasn't?"
He sighed.
"Lionel got greedy."
I looked at him.
"You mean Lionel didn't give you enough?"
My father's eyes narrowed.
"I was trying to save the family."
"By forging my signature?"
He flinched.
Then recovered.
"I never forged anything."
"Someone did."
"I was going to pay you."
"Nine hundred thousand."
"That's what the house was worth when we started discussing it."
"No, it wasn't."
He looked away.
I continued.
"You could have asked me for help."
"You'd have said no."
"Probably."
"There you go."
I leaned forward.
"Dad, a person's right to say no is not permission to steal from them."
For the first time, he looked uncertain.
Then his face hardened.
"Your grandfather would be ashamed."
I felt the familiar wound open.
For one second, I was twelve again.
Trying to win approval.
Then I remembered Grandpa's letter.
"No," I said.
My father stared.
"What?"
"Grandpa wrote me a letter."
His face changed.
I watched the recognition.
"You knew about it."
He said nothing.
"You kept it."
My father looked toward the window.
"It wasn't important."
"It was important to me."
He stood.
"You've always been ungrateful."
I stood too.
"And you've always confused gratitude with obedience."
He pointed toward me.
"If you sell that house, don't expect us to remain a family."
I looked at him.
"That's your choice."
He walked out.
An hour later, Priya called.
The investigation into the attempted property transfer had uncovered an electronic submission account connected to Lionel's office.
The documents contained evidence pointing toward my father's involvement.
But something else had appeared.
A scanned authorization form.
My forged signature.
And the digital upload record showed the file had originally come from Tessa's personal laptop.
May you like
My sister had not merely handed Dad old documents.
She had helped prepare the forgery.
