Chapter 5 - My Son's Bargain
I had spent thirty years protecting Daniel from unnecessary pain. That morning I began to wonder whether I'd also protected him from necessary consequences.
“Do you remember your father's first rule?” I asked Daniel.
He stared at the table. “Never sign what you haven't read.”
“He used to make you read rental car agreements on vacation.”
“He made me read the instructions for a toaster.”
“And you hated it.”
Daniel let out a bitter laugh. “He said people who rush you through the fine print usually want you to miss something.”
“Your father wasn't perfect,” I said. “He trusted the wrong people once, too. The difference was that he learned to admit it without looking for someone smaller to blame.”
Daniel's eyes shone. “I kept hearing Vanessa say you didn't respect me. After a while I started hearing it even when she wasn't speaking.”
“I have made mistakes with you,” I said. “But wanting you to be ready wasn't the same as wanting you to fail.”
He looked at me for a long moment. We hadn't spoken that plainly in years.
“Tell me everything,” I said.
He watched his hands. “Six months ago, Vanessa said she wanted to start a hospitality company. I told her we couldn't invest hotel money without board approval.”
“So she found another way.”
“She said her father knew investors. She promised they would finance a renovation.”
“Her father, Charles Whitmore?”
Daniel nodded. Charles was a charming real-estate broker whose businesses changed names more often than seasons.
“Did you sign anything?”
“An introduction agreement.”
“Show me.”
He opened his phone and scrolled. At the bottom of a document was a clause granting Harbor Crown a right to purchase an interest in the hotel if certain debt conditions were met.
“We don't have those debt conditions,” I said.
Daniel's face tightened. “We might now.”
Martin checked the internal ledger. Three renovation invoices had been moved into current liabilities. The totals were large enough to make the hotel look weaker to a prospective lender.
“Paul Mercer could do that,” Martin said. “But he'd need supporting documentation.”
A memory returned to me: Paul avoiding my eyes at the staff dinner two weeks earlier.
Daniel spoke quietly. “Vanessa told me you were considering selling. She said you were getting tired.”
“Did you ask me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
He looked up. “Because part of me wanted it to be true. I thought I'd finally get my turn.”
That admission hurt more than Vanessa's insults downstairs.
Before I could answer, my phone buzzed. It was Rosa again.
“Mrs. Hayes, someone has been in the house,” she whispered. “The study window is open. And there are wet footprints on the floor.”
“Get outside,” I told her. “Call the police.”
May you like
Rosa hesitated. “There's someone on the staircase.”
The line went dead.
