If I reject it because I’m angry about last night, I create a different problem.
So I won’t do either one.”
Tegan folded her arms.
“You’re making this a bigger deal than it needs to be.”
“I’m making it exactly the size it is.”
That silenced her.
A few minutes later, my assistant arrived with two people from the weekend skeleton staff.
I explained the relationship in front of everyone.
Calmly.
No mention of the barbecue.
No dramatic accusation.
No screenshot held up like evidence.
I simply stated that Tegan was my brother’s wife and that I was recusing myself from the exception request.
The folder left my desk.
Tegan watched it go as if somebody had carried away a winning lottery ticket.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“The request gets reviewed on its merits.”
“And if they don’t approve the early release?”
“Then the normal payment schedule remains in effect.”
Her jaw tightened.
“So you really won’t just sign it?”
“No.”
Gage finally looked directly at me.
“You know this matters to us.”
I almost laughed, but there was nothing funny about it.
For years, that sentence had been the skeleton key in our family.
This matters to us.
Meaning: fix it.
This is important to us.
Meaning: rearrange your day.
We need you.
Meaning: forget how we treated you five minutes ago.
I stood.
“I understand that it matters to you.
That’s why it deserves a clean review instead of a family favor.”
Tegan grabbed her bag.
“You could make one phone call.”
“I just did.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
She walked toward the door.
Gage stayed behind for another second.
The swagger had gone out of him.
“I didn’t think you’d take that message so seriously,” he said quietly.
I looked at him.
“You told me not to come.”
“Tegan was upset.”
“So you sent it.”
He exhaled.
“Mom and Dad thought it was funny.”
“They usually do when the joke is me.”
He didn’t have an answer for that.
Then he left.
I sat back down at my desk.
My coffee was still cold.
For about ten minutes, nothing happened.
