Chapter 2
I called Martin before I could talk myself into waiting for a better moment. The excerpt lay beside my laptop, my pencil resting across the signature line as if it could keep anyone from reaching it.
He answered from a conference room with a glass wall. Behind him, people crossed and recrossed the corridor, carrying folders and paper cups, while he sat very still.
“Ms. Mercer,” he said. “I’m glad you called.”
“Then let’s start with what you sent me. Why is my name in this agreement?”
Martin glanced down, though I doubted he needed notes. “Your grandfather created a limited certification role for you. It’s separate from your father’s management of the company.”
“Separate how?”
“You’re not being asked to approve a business decision or take responsibility for Blackridge’s day-to-day operations. The certification asks whether your father remains entitled to exercise certain controlling rights under the succession documents.”
I looked at the paper. “And I’m supposed to decide that from two pages?”
“No.”
“Those are the only two pages you sent.”
“I understand.”
The calmness in his voice made my fingers tighten around the pencil. I’d heard that tone from people who wanted to sound patient while someone else carried the risk.
“Then tell me what I’m missing.”
Martin folded his hands. “The excerpt isn’t the complete agreement, and it isn’t the full supporting record. I sent you the sections I believed were relevant to the certification.”
“Believed?”
“I didn’t want to bury you in a large file before we spoke.”
“You sent me a statement to certify and left out whatever I’d need to test it.”
His eyes moved briefly toward someone outside the glass. “That’s a fair concern.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. The schedules and supporting records have not been included in the packet you received.”
I leaned back. At least he’d said it plainly. The room around me smelled like Ethan’s coffee and the lemon soap I’d used to wash out a stubborn pan; ordinary morning things that suddenly felt flimsy against the blank space where the missing records should have been.
“Can you send them?”
“I can arrange for you to review the relevant records in person.”
“Why not send them now?”
“Some materials are held in company files. I need to coordinate access.”
“Who with?”
He paused just long enough for the silence to become an answer of its own.
“Mr. Mercer’s office.”
Ethan, standing at the kitchen counter, looked up. He didn’t interrupt. He just set down the mug he’d been drying and came to sit beside me.
I asked Martin, “Has my father seen the certification?”
“He’s aware of it.”
“Has he seen what you sent me?”
“I can’t speak to every conversation he’s had about the documents.”
“Can you tell me whether he’s asked you to get my signature before I see the schedules?”
Martin drew a breath. “He wants the matter addressed before Friday.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“No,” he said. “It wasn’t.”
For the first time, his composure slipped. Not much—just a small tightening around the mouth—but I saw it.
“What did Grandpa intend this role to be?” I asked. “A safeguard, or a way to put me between Dad and a deadline?”
“Your grandfather wanted the certification to be independent.”
The word landed hard. Independent. It sounded simple until I remembered how many years my family had treated my judgment as a problem whenever it didn’t match theirs.
“Did he tell you that?”
“He did.”
“And what would you have me rely on?”
“The agreement. The schedules. Whatever supporting records are available for your review.”
“Not on your assurance?”
“Not on mine.”
I looked at Ethan. He gave one small nod—not permission, not advice. Just a reminder that I could take a breath without surrendering the question.
Martin continued, “I can set up an in-person review. I can’t promise that every record you request will be made available immediately.”
“Then I can’t promise anything either.”
“That’s understood.”
“Is it? Because the form has an empty line where my name goes, and no space for the records I haven’t seen.”
He was quiet.
I thought of my grandfather at his dining table, tapping a contract with one knuckle and telling me to read the page before signing the bottom. Back then, it had sounded like one of his jokes about my law-school habits. Now the memory settled differently: not a prediction, not a secret instruction, but a plain confidence that I was capable of stopping when something didn’t add up.
“Please arrange the review,” I said. “And send me the complete agreement and the schedules you can provide. I won’t certify what I can’t examine.”
“I’ll contact the appropriate people.”
“Today.”
“I’ll try.”
“Today, Martin.”
His expression changed. “I’ll contact them today.”
The call ended without a promise that access would be quick. I kept my hand on the laptop for a moment after the screen went dark.
Ethan slid my coffee toward me. It had gone lukewarm.
“What did he actually tell you?” he asked.
“That Grandpa made the role independent. I’m supposed to review the records. They haven’t sent me all the records.”
“And what did you hear?”
I looked down at my pencil. “That I’m being unreasonable. That if I ask for too much, I’ll make everything harder.”
“Did Martin say that?”
“No.”
“Did the document?”
“No.”
Ethan waited.
I felt the old reflex rise in me, the urge to soften every demand before someone else could call it difficult. “My family has a way of making a question sound like an accusation.”
“Then keep it a question.”
I picked up the pencil and wrote on a blank sheet: What is missing? Who has it? When can I review it? The words looked almost embarrassingly simple. They also looked like something I could stand behind.
My phone started ringing.
Dad.
His name filled the screen, clean and familiar, as if two years of silence had been nothing but a technical interruption. My first instinct was to let it ring until the call disappeared. The second was to answer before he could tell the family I’d refused to speak.
Ethan didn’t tell me what to do. He turned his mug between his hands and waited.
I answered.
“Natalie,” Dad said. No greeting. His voice was brisk, clipped with the impatience of a man whose call had already taken longer than he’d planned. “Martin tells me you’re reviewing the certification.”
“Then he’s told you the extent of what I have.”
A beat. “It’s a straightforward document.”
“You haven’t seen what Martin sent me.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then you know the schedules weren’t included.”
“We can deal with records after the immediate issue is handled.”
“No. The records are how I handle the issue.”
He exhaled sharply. In the background, I heard a door close and the faint hum of a speakerphone. He wasn’t alone.
“Your grandfather put you in a narrow role,” he said. “That doesn’t mean you need to turn it into a trial.”
“I haven’t turned anything into anything. I asked for the supporting documents.”
“You’ve had them for less than a day.”
“And you need my signature before Friday.”
“I need this resolved before Friday.”
“What are you trying to authorize?”
He didn’t answer.
I pressed my free hand against the table, grounding myself in its cool, solid edge. “Does it involve Claire?”
A pause, then a low scrape, like his chair shifting.
“Why are you bringing your sister into this?”
“Her name is in the provision I was sent.”
“Claire’s name is in a lot of family records.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“You always did know how to make a simple matter difficult.”
There it was. Not an answer, but the old familiar trap dressed in a fresh suit. I felt the pull to explain myself, to prove I wasn’t looking for a fight. I let it pass.
“I’m asking what the certification covers,” I said. “Send me the schedules.”
“Martin can coordinate that.”
“He hasn’t.”
“Then he will.”
“When?”
“Stop treating every delay as a conspiracy.”
“I didn’t say it was a conspiracy.”
“You didn’t have to.”
The voice wasn’t loud. It didn’t need to be. Dad had spent years making disapproval feel like a door quietly closing in the next room.
“Friday is coming,” he said. “The company cannot wait for you to relive old family grievances.”
Then he hung up.
For a moment, I heard only the rain ticking against the window and Ethan’s mug touching the table. Dad had asked for my signature, refused to tell me what it would authorize, and made the missing records sound like my fault.
May you like
I looked at the three questions I’d written down.
This time, I didn’t cross any of them out.
