Chương 9
"I changed paperwork because I was afraid you would lose it."
"That is still a fight."
She nodded.
"Okay."
The simple acceptance took some of the force out of his anger.
He hated that it did.
"Why didn't you tell me about the buyer?"
Emily looked toward the window.
"Because every time I tried, you told me everything was fine."
"I never said that."
"You didn't have to."
The words were not cruel.
That made them harder.
Daniel stood and walked to the sink.
A glass sat there from that morning.
His coffee mug was beside it.
A small stain from the coffee had dried on the counter.
Normal things.
Things that made the rest of his life feel impossible.
"Who is the buyer?" he asked.
Emily hesitated.
"Daniel."
"Who?"
She took a breath.
"Calder Ridge Investments."
The name meant nothing for half a second.
Then it did.
A memory moved through him so quickly he almost missed it.
A young man in a gray suit standing outside Mercer Hardware twenty years earlier.
A folder under his arm.
A smile that looked practiced.
"Where did you hear that name?"
Emily noticed the change in his voice.
"You know them."
"No."
The answer came too fast.
She watched him.
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
"Not exactly."
"That means yes."
He walked back to the table.
"When did they approach you?"
"Six months ago."
"Six months?"
"I was trying to handle it."
"You were twenty-nine years old trying to handle corporate buyers?"
Her face hardened.
"I was thirty-one."
He stopped.
The correction was small.
But it reminded him how much time he had missed.
Emily had become an adult while he was still thinking of her as the child who used to fall asleep on the couch waiting for him to come home.
"I'm sorry," he said.
She looked surprised.
Not because the apology was impossible.
Because it was rare.
Daniel sat down.
"Tell me everything."
Emily hesitated again.
This time, he understood why.
She had spent months carrying something he should have been carrying.
"They contacted me through the business email," she said.
"Why not you?"
"Because your assistant's account was still connected to some old ownership records."
"My assistant died three years ago."
"I know."
The sentence sounded careful.
Daniel noticed.
"What?"
Emily looked at the table.
"Nothing."
"No."
She sighed.
"I didn't mean that how it sounded."
"How did it sound?"
"Like I was saying something about you not knowing."
He looked at her.
"Wasn't that what you meant?"
Emily did not answer.
That was answer enough.
Daniel leaned back.
The worst part was not that his daughter had hidden things.
The worst part was discovering she had reasons.
She had watched him become someone who could not accept help because accepting help meant admitting he had failed.
And Daniel had always believed failure was something that happened to other people.
People who were careless.
People who did not work hard enough.
People who did not love their families enough.
The notebook sat between them.
Finally, he opened it.
The first pages were numbers.
Sales figures.
Expenses.
Employee names.
Then, halfway through, the writing changed.
The letters became uneven.
His father's handwriting had always been controlled.
Sharp.
Almost impatient.
These pages looked like they had been written by someone trying to outrun a thought.
Daniel read the first line.
If Daniel finds this, it means I was too late.
He stopped.
Emily noticed.
"What?"
He did not answer.
He kept reading.
The next line was shorter.
I should have told him years ago.
A strange pressure moved into his chest.
His father had never apologized easily.
Not when Daniel was a child.
Not when he missed birthdays because of work.
Not when he sold the family car without asking because the company needed money.
An apology from him felt almost unnatural.
"What does it say?" Emily asked.
Daniel closed the notebook halfway.
"I don't know yet."
She looked at him.
"You're doing it again."
"What?"
"Deciding you have to handle it alone."
He looked at the notebook.
Then at his daughter.
For years, Daniel had thought being a father meant standing between his family and every problem.
He had never considered that sometimes the wall itself became the problem.
"I need to call someone," he said.
"Who?"
He picked up his phone.
A name appeared in his contacts that he had not used in almost ten years.
"An old employee."
Emily watched him.
"Someone who knows about this?"
Daniel looked at the notebook.
"I think someone who knows about this is the reason my father kept it."
The call rang.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Daniel almost ended it.
Then someone answered.
"Mercer?"
The voice was older.
But he recognized it immediately.
"Tom?"
Silence.
A long one.
Then a slow breath.
"Daniel Mercer."
The way the man said his name made Emily sit straighter.
"How did you get this number?"
Daniel looked at the notebook.
"I found something that belonged to my father."
Another pause.
"That is not a good sentence."
Daniel felt his grip tighten around the phone.
"What do you mean?"
Tom did not answer immediately.
When he finally spoke, his voice had changed.
It sounded less like an old friend.
More like someone preparing for a storm.
"Where are you right now, Daniel?"
"At home."
"Are you alone?"
Daniel looked at Emily.
"No."
"Good."
The word carried no comfort.
Only concern.
"Do not open anything else until I get there."
Daniel looked at the notebook.
"Tom."
"I mean it."
"What did my father leave behind?"
The silence returned.
Then Tom said something that made Daniel's entire body go still.
"Your father did not leave something behind."
He paused.
"He left something hidden."
The call ended.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Emily looked at him.
"What did he mean?"
Daniel looked down at the notebook.
The old black cover suddenly felt heavier than it had a minute earlier.
"I don't know."
May you like
This time, she believed him.
And that frightened him more than anything else.
