Chapter 10 - My Father’s Name

My father and I had not spoken in eleven months.

Not because of Daniel.

At least, that was what I had told myself.

My father, Richard Vance, was difficult, proud, and allergic to apologies. After Lily was born, he criticized Daniel’s expansion plans at a family dinner. Daniel accused him of trying to control us. I defended my husband.

The argument ended with my father saying, “One day you’ll learn the difference between a man who wants to protect you and a man who wants to own you.”

I left furious.

Now the sentence came back like a blade.

“What does my father have to do with Harbor Ridge?” I asked.

Daniel’s expression shifted. He had wanted my attention. He had it.

“Ask Charles.”

I did.

Charles removed his glasses.

That worried me more than any answer.

“Richard personally backstopped one tranche of the development loan,” he said.

“How much?”

“Two million.”

“Why?”

“He believed he was helping you.”

I looked at Daniel.

“You asked my father for money?”

“He offered support.”

Charles shook his head. “That is not how I remember it.”

Daniel snapped, “You weren’t in the room.”

“No,” Charles said. “But I prepared the note your father signed after you told him Emily knew and approved.”

I felt sick.

Daniel had used me as permission.

Again.

“If I accelerate the debt,” I said, “what happens to Dad?”

Charles answered carefully. “Potentially, he becomes exposed on the personal guaranty if Harbor Ridge cannot satisfy the call.”

Daniel spread his hands. “Now you understand. Press your little button and you can punish me. You just might bankrupt your father while you’re doing it.”

Margaret looked relieved for the first time all day.

She thought he had cornered me.

Maybe he had.

Then Dana asked, “Daniel, when did you last review the guaranty structure?”

His eyes narrowed.

“Why?”

“Because Richard Vance amended his position ninety days ago.”

Daniel went silent.

Charles turned toward me.

“Your father suspected something was wrong.”

My throat tightened.

“He never called me.”

“He did something else.”

Charles slid a sealed letter from his portfolio.

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My name was written across the front in my father’s handwriting.

The date on the envelope was three months earlier.