Chapter 7 - THE FOUR-DAY DEADLINE
Friday came.
The Hawthorne estate payment did not.
Three hundred eighty-six thousand dollars.
Richard could produce it.
Barely.
But the family’s cash position was worse than anyone admitted.
The vineyard made money.
The estate consumed it.
Insurance.
Staff.
Taxes.
Repairs.
Margaret’s parties.
Richard’s debts.
For years, my company had quietly prevented another collapse.
Not as charity.
As structured credit.
But I had repeatedly approved temporary accommodations because Daniel asked.
Every request sounded reasonable.
Dad needs one more quarter.
Mom cannot know.
The harvest was weak.
The new tasting room will help.
I said yes because marriage makes another person’s emergency feel like yours.
Now I said no.
Not revenge.
Contract.
Richard wired the payment late Friday afternoon.
Then called me for the first time in four years.
“Anna.”
“Yes?”
“I owe you an apology.”
I almost laughed.
“For which thing?”
He did not like that.
“For not understanding the financial arrangement.”
“That is not the apology I need.”
Silence.
Then.
“For yesterday.”
“It happened four days ago.”
Another silence.
Richard was accustomed to people smoothing his mistakes while he spoke.
I no longer helped.
He finally said.
“Margaret was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“Daniel was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“And I should have intervened.”
May you like
“Yes.”
There was nowhere left for him to hide.
