Chapter 2 - WHAT HE BUILT
Inside the car, Dad kept his hands on his knees.
Rain slid down the windows.
The man with the umbrella sat opposite us.
“Adrian Cole,” he told me.
“I represent your father.”
“In what?”
Dad looked at Adrian.
“Give him the folder.”
The first page showed a company logo I recognized immediately.
Henderson Structural Systems.
HSS.
Its components went into hospitals, schools, parking structures, and half the commercial buildings George’s development company advertised.
I had used its specifications myself.
“You named yourself after the company?” I asked.
Dad gave me a tired look.
“The company was named after me.”
I stared at him.
My father had repaired furnaces in snowstorms.
He had worked demolition jobs when his knees were already bad.
Our kitchen ceiling had leaked for two winters.
“Dad.”
“I designed the original connection system.”
He tapped a drawing in the folder.
“These joints let crews assemble a frame faster without weakening the load.”
“You invented this?”
“Your mother helped turn it into a business.”
Mom had died when I was eight.
I remembered her gardening gloves, her laugh, the silver bracelet she wore.
I didn’t remember any business.
“George handled financing,” Dad continued.
“I handled the work.”
“What happened?”
Dad looked down.
“After your mother died, George said the company was going under.”
He had offered money for Dad’s voting shares.
Dad had kept a separate ownership interest in the original designs, but George told him it was worthless.
“At the time, I needed steady pay and health insurance.”
“For me.”
“For us.”
Adrian leaned forward.
“Your father retained rights through a family trust.”
“Worth how much?”
“We’re still establishing what’s owed.”
I turned toward Dad.
“You knew George?”
“I knew the man he was before the money.”
“And you let me marry his daughter?”
“I told you I was uncomfortable.”
“You said he seemed arrogant.”
“I didn’t have proof of what he’d done.”
“You had enough to tell me.”
Dad accepted that without arguing.
“I should have.”
My phone vibrated.
Fiona.
Then George.
Then a message from a number I didn’t know.
YOU WALKED AWAY FROM THE ONLY PEOPLE WHO COULD PROTECT YOU.
I showed Adrian.
He photographed the screen.
“We’re going to my office.”
Dad shook his head.
“First, the house.”
“Walter, the records can wait.”
“No.”
He looked at me.
“Your mother kept copies.”
“What copies?”
“The ones George said had been destroyed.”
Adrian’s phone rang.
He answered, listened, and sat upright.
“What time?”
His eyes moved to Dad.
He ended the call.
“Someone has already been to your house.”
Dad’s hand closed around his keys.
May you like
Adrian added one sentence.
“The back door is open.”
