Chapter 3 - THE DEAL THAT FAILED
Six years earlier, Preston had called it “the opportunity of a lifetime.”
Two business contacts wanted to develop warehouse space outside Dayton.
Preston wanted us to borrow against our house and invest $180,000.
“It’s practically guaranteed,” he had said.
My mother had listened while I explained it.
Then she asked one question.
“What happens if it fails?”
Preston hated that question.
My mother didn’t care.
She looked at me and said, “Your home is where you sleep. An investment is where you take risks. Don’t turn one into the other unless you can afford to lose both.”
I said no.
Preston didn’t speak to me for two days.
For years afterward, he reminded me of my cowardice.
Except now I was holding a letter proving the investment had gone forward without us.
And collapsed.
The investors had recovered eleven cents on the dollar.
I read the letter twice.
Then a third time.
There were handwritten notes in the margin.
Preston’s handwriting.
He had known.
Of course he had known.
I heard a floorboard upstairs.
I shoved the letter back into the folder.
A moment later, Preston appeared in the doorway.
“What are you doing?”
“Looking for the insurance policy.”
“At one in the morning?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
His eyes dropped to the box.
Then to the folder beside me.
For half a second, he froze.
That was enough.
“Did the Dayton project fail?” I asked.
His expression changed.
“Why?”
“It’s a simple question.”
“You’re digging again.”
“Did it fail?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Yes.”
The word landed like a brick.
“How badly?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“You wanted me to put our house at risk.”
“We didn’t invest.”
“Because I said no.”
“Because your mother scared you.”
“My mother was right.”
He stepped toward me.
“Don’t start.”
“You knew she was right.”
“I said don’t start.”
“You let me believe for six years that I had cost us money.”
“You did cost us an opportunity.”
“The opportunity went bankrupt!”
He slammed his palm against the closet door.
“Keep your voice down.”
“No.”
His eyes widened.
I had rarely raised my voice to Preston.
I wasn’t screaming.
But I wasn’t shrinking either.
“You knew,” I said. “You watched me feel guilty for years.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“You lied.”
“I didn’t lie. I chose not to discuss it.”
I actually laughed.
“That’s what you call it?”
He crossed his arms.
“You want to know your problem?”
“I’m sure you’re about to tell me.”
“You need people to tell you what to think.”
“My parents?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the man I had slept beside for seventeen years.
Then I asked the question that had been building since his birthday.
“Why does it bother you so much when they ask me questions?”
He didn’t answer.
And that silence told me more than any insult ever had.
The next morning, I called my father.
“Dad?”
“Hey, kiddo.”
His voice immediately softened something in me.
I swallowed.
“I need to ask you something about Preston.”
There was a long pause.
May you like
Then my father said words I wasn’t expecting.
“I wondered when you’d finally ask.”
