Based on what you’ve given me, there isn’t any.”
That distinction steadied me.
Noise and standing.
For weeks, he had been creating noise.
Calling Vera.
Speaking to an attorney.
Using words like our, we, stakeholders.
Standing was something else.
The next morning, he arrived before opening.
That was unusual.
He was sitting at the back table when I came in, jacket folded beside him, coffee untouched.
“I think we got off on the wrong foot yesterday,” he said.
I turned on the ovens.
“Did we?”
“I never meant to imply I was trying to take something from you.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“I was trying to protect the family.”
There it was.
The second strategy.
When entitlement failed, he turned it into concern.
“By calling my accountant without telling me?”
“I needed information.”
“By hiring an attorney?”
“Consulting one.”
“Without telling your wife?”
He flinched at that.
“She gets emotional about money.”
My daughter was standing behind him.
Again.
This time I wondered whether part of him knew she was there and simply could not stop himself.
“Do I?” she asked.
He closed his eyes briefly.
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
He turned toward her.
“I mean your mother is talking about selling the biggest asset this family has ever had, and nobody was thinking strategically.”
My daughter’s face hardened.
“It isn’t our asset.”
He stood.
“You’re really going to take her side?”
The sentence hung there.
My daughter stared at him for several seconds.
“Her side?”
He knew immediately that he had made a mistake.
She removed her apron and placed it on the table.
“This is my mother’s bakery.
You came here because we needed help.
She gave us jobs.
She helped us when we were drowning.
And you turned that into a claim.”
“That is not what happened.”
“You talked to an attorney behind my back.”
“Because somebody had to think ahead.”
“For us? Or for you?”
He did not answer.
