Chapter 5 - MARY’S SECOND LETTER
Nathan did not want Sophie to read the letter aloud.
Walter insisted.
“Your mother wrote it for you.”
Nathan stared at the envelope.
“What if it’s private?”
Walter nodded.
“Then take it home.”
Sophie looked disappointed.
Nathan took it.
Then sat in Mary’s old chair and opened it.
Walter deliberately went into the kitchen.
Privacy was privacy.
Ten minutes later, Nathan appeared in the doorway.
His face looked different.
Not tearful.
Worse.
Young.
For a moment Walter saw the twenty-two-year-old son who once came home after failing his first accounting exam and sat at that same kitchen table pretending he didn’t care.
“What did she say?”
Nathan handed him the letter.
“You can read it.”
Walter hesitated.
Then did.
Nathan,
Your father will tell you this letter proves I expected you to become an idiot. It doesn’t. I expect all of us to become idiots occasionally.
Walter smiled.
Nathan did not.
Mary continued.
You have always been good at solving problems. This is why people follow you. It is also why you sometimes treat people as if they are problems.
Walter stopped.
Nathan stared at the floor.
When your father gets old, he will frustrate you. He will refuse help because needing it will scare him. He will insist his hearing is fine when it isn’t. He will probably drive too long.
Walter muttered:
“Traitor.”
Nathan almost smiled.
Do not confuse protecting him with owning his choices.
Walter’s throat tightened.
And Walter, if he is reading over your shoulder, stop.
Nathan actually laughed.
Walter kept reading.
I know you love us. But love can become controlling when fear has money behind it. You will always be able to hire someone, move something, fix something, buy something. Remember that the person you love may not want to be fixed.
Silence.
At the bottom:
If you ever become so successful that nobody tells you no, go ask your father something important. He will correct the problem for free.
Walter folded the letter.
Nathan sat down.
“She knew.”
“Your mother knew everything.”
“She knew I’d do this?”
“No.”
Walter shook his head.
“She knew who we were.”
Nathan looked around the kitchen.
“I miss her.”
“So do I.”
“You think I used Evergreen because I wanted convenience.”
Walter waited.
“Partly, maybe.”
Nathan swallowed.
“But Mom died here.”
Walter went still.
Nathan looked toward the hallway.
“I hate this house.”
The words shocked him.
“This house?”
“I come through the door and expect her to yell from the kitchen.”
Walter stared.
Nathan’s voice cracked.
“I sit in the living room and see the oxygen machine.”
Mary’s last months had been difficult.
Cancer.
Hospice.
A bed beside the window.
Nathan continued.
“You wanted to stay.”
“Yes.”
“I wanted you out.”
Walter finally understood.
Not just safety.
Nathan wanted the house gone because grief lived there for him too.
“You should have said that.”
“I didn’t know how.”
“So you sold it?”
Nathan almost laughed at himself.
“Apparently.”
Walter sat across from him.
“You know I see something else.”
“What?”
“The maple tree.”
Nathan looked toward the backyard.
“Your mother planted it when she was pregnant with you.”
“I know.”
“I see Sophie learning to ride a bike.”
“I remember.”
“I see your mother throwing a pie at me because I said her crust was dry.”
Nathan smiled.
“You deserved it.”
“I did.”
Walter continued.
“This house has bad rooms.”
A pause.
“But it has good ones too.”
Nathan nodded.
“I’m not ready to let the bad ones own it.”
That sentence stayed between them.
The board approved Walter’s lease in principle the next day.
Not unanimously.
One director objected to the employee-housing fund.
Sophie found out and posted nothing online because Walter threatened to take her phone until college.
But Margaret Kline later told Walter that Nathan voted for every term.
No negotiation.
No reduction.
That surprised him.
Then Nathan did something more surprising.
He visited the neighboring homeowners.
Personally.
The first was seventy-four-year-old Irene Palmer.
She refused to let him inside.
He stood on the porch forty minutes.
The second couple had already signed with Blue Ridge and were happy to move to Florida.
The third homeowner, George Miller, was eighty-three.
Nathan discovered Blue Ridge had pressured him with a forty-eight-hour offer expiration and repeatedly called his daughter after George said no.
Legal?
Possibly.
Ethical?
Nathan knew the answer.
He called Blue Ridge.
“You’re releasing Miller.”
Their attorney laughed.
“We have a signed contract.”
“Then I’ll purchase his contract rights from you.”
“At a premium.”
“No.”
“Then why would we?”
“Because Hayes Logistics is withdrawing from the executive-housing partnership.”
Silence.
“You can’t.”
“I just did.”
The entire redevelopment deal depended on Hayes becoming anchor tenant.
Without them, Blue Ridge could still build something.
But the economics changed.
The lawyer became angry.
Nathan remained calm.
For once, power was being used to give somebody else room to say no.
Within a week, Blue Ridge released two older homeowners from deals they no longer wanted and revised terms with another.
It cost Nathan personally more than eight million dollars.
Walter found out through Sophie.
“Dad says you’re going to yell.”
Walter called him.
“What did you do?”
Nathan sighed.
“Hello to you too.”
“Eight million?”
“Approximately.”
“You paid Blue Ridge?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nathan was quiet.
“Because Mr. Miller said something.”
“What?”
“He said his daughter kept telling him the offer was good, so he thought maybe wanting to stay made him selfish.”
Walter closed his eyes.
Nathan continued.
“That sounded familiar.”
Walter sat in Mary’s chair.
“Thank you.”
Nathan went silent.
Walter almost never said that to him anymore.
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
“Board wants the final lease signed Friday.”
“I know.”
“You coming to headquarters?”
Walter smiled.
“No.”
“What?”
“I’m eighty.”
“So?”
“You want the land, come to me.”
Nathan laughed.
Actually laughed.
“All right.”
Friday morning, Hayes Logistics’ entire executive committee drove to Walter’s house.
Walter made coffee.
Bad coffee.
Nobody complained.
The lease sat on the kitchen table.
Thirty years.
Renewable.
Fair rent.
Employee housing.
Protected pond.
Rail access.
No interference with Walter’s residence.
Walter picked up his pen.
Then stopped.
Nathan looked nervous.
“What?”
“One more thing.”
The attorneys nearly fainted.
Walter looked at his son.
“My power of attorney.”
Nathan nodded.
“Revoked.”
“And replacement?”
“I assumed Susan.”
“No.”
Walter looked toward the doorway.
Sophie entered holding a folder.
Nathan stared.
“No.”
Walter smiled.
“Relax.”
Sophie rolled her eyes.
“I’m seventeen. I cannot run Grandpa’s life.”
“Correct.”
Walter continued.
“Susan will handle finances if I become unable.”
Nathan relaxed slightly.
“And medical decisions?”
Walter looked at his son.
Nathan went still.
“You.”
Silence.
“Me?”
“Yes.”
Nathan’s face changed.
Walter held up one finger.
“If.”
Nathan nodded.
“If.”
“If two independent doctors say I cannot decide.”
“Yes.”
“And until then?”
“I ask.”
Walter smiled.
“Your mother might finally stop haunting us.”
Nathan looked toward Mary’s photograph.
“Doubtful.”
Walter signed the lease.
Nathan signed.
Margaret signed for the company.
Just like that, the eight-hundred-million-dollar lending crisis ended.
But Nathan’s troubles did not.
Because at 4:16 that afternoon, Margaret called.
“Nathan.”
He knew from her tone.
“What?”
“The board completed its review of the house transaction.”
Nathan sat back.
“And?”
“You used company legal staff to facilitate a personal real-estate sale involving your father.”
He closed his eyes.
“They drafted documents.”
“They also contacted Evergreen Manor and represented that Hayes Logistics would cover fees.”
Nathan said nothing.
Margaret continued.
“The independent directors are concerned about judgment.”
He stared through his office window.
“What are you saying?”
“The board is calling a special meeting Monday.”
“For what?”
A pause.
“Your position as CEO.”
Nathan’s hands went cold.
He had saved the company’s land deal.
But the board had finally begun asking a more dangerous question.
May you like
Whether the man who could not respect his own father’s boundaries should still control everyone else’s.
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