Chapter 7 - My Father at the Door
I had not seen my father in six years.
When he walked through the front door, he looked older than the man in my memories.
His hair was almost completely silver.
There were deeper lines around his eyes.
But the moment he saw me, none of that mattered.
He stopped.
So did I.
For years, I had imagined what I would say if we ever met again.
Accusations.
Questions.
Maybe nothing at all.
Instead Dad looked at my shoulder.
Then at the broken plate on the dining room floor.
His face changed.
“Emily.”
I crossed the foyer before I realized I was moving.
He wrapped both arms around me.
I was thirty-six years old.
A mother.
A wife for twelve years.
Yet for several seconds, I was simply someone’s daughter again.
“I’m sorry.”
The words came out against his jacket.
Dad held me tighter.
“So am I.”
Lily stood nearby.
Dad released me and looked at her.
She had been four the last time he saw her.
“Hello, Lily.”
She studied him carefully.
“You’re Grandpa Charles?”
His eyes became wet.
“Yes.”
“Mom has your eyes.”
Dad smiled.
“I think she has yours.”
Lily stepped forward and hugged him.
That nearly brought me to my knees.
Behind us, Ryan spoke.
“Can we stop pretending Charles is the hero?”
Dad stood.
He did not raise his voice.
“Not tonight.”
“You manipulated everything from the beginning.”
“I financed your family’s business because Emily asked me to.”
“You took control of it.”
“I prevented your father from losing it.”
Ryan walked closer.
“And put the shares in Emily’s trust.”
“Yes.”
“So you could control me through her.”
Dad shook his head.
“So you could never control her through money.”
Ryan’s face twisted.
Dad continued.
“The difference seems important now.”
Thomas sat at the dining table with his head in his hands.
Diane whispered, “You planned this.”
Dad looked at her.
“I planned for the possibility that my daughter might someday need protection.”
He looked at me.
“I hoped she never would.”
Naomi handed him the forged agreement.
Dad read the first page.
His expression hardened.
“The buyer knows?”
“They have a copy.”
“When is closing?”
“Friday morning.”
It was Wednesday night.
Forty-eight hours.
Dad looked at me.
“If that sale closes with this signature, untangling it becomes much harder.”
Ryan gave a bitter laugh.
“You can’t stop it.”
I looked at him.
“Why?”
He smiled.
Because even cornered, Ryan still believed he was smarter than everyone else.
“Because the voting proxy makes me acting representative of Emily’s trust.”
Naomi went very still.
“What voting proxy?”
Ryan smiled wider.
“The one Emily signed twelve years ago.”
I remembered signing documents before our wedding.
Insurance forms.
Estate planning papers.
Company disclosures.
My stomach dropped.
Dad looked at Naomi.
May you like
“Find it.”
Ryan’s smile told me he believed he had just won.
