Chapter 9: What He Said in Front of Everyone
My father had been quiet through all of it.
Robert Hayes was not a man who spoke before he had something worth saying.
He had listened when I called him.
He had driven up from Wilmington the weekend after I left.
He had sat at my mother's kitchen table, read the documents Patricia had sent, and said: *All right.
Tell me what you need.*
What I needed, it turned out, was for him to be present at the mediation session Nathan's attorney had requested.
The session was held in a conference room on the sixth floor of a building in downtown Raleigh.
Nathan's attorney, a man named Clifford Bryce, had requested it as a preliminary step before the fraud claims moved to formal proceedings.
Daniel had advised me to attend.
*Let them show their hand,* he said.
*Don't offer anything.*
Nathan was already seated when I arrived.
He was in a dark jacket and he had the look of a man who had not been sleeping well.
Judith was not present.
Vanessa was not present.
It was Nathan, Clifford Bryce, me, Daniel, and my father, who had asked to attend as a support person and whom Clifford Bryce had eyed with visible unease.
We sat down.
Bryce opened.
"My client is prepared to make a comprehensive offer," he said.
"Full title transfer of the Raleigh property back to Ms.
Hayes Cole.
A settlement of eighty thousand dollars to cover any disputed household account withdrawals.
Joint custody of the children on a fifty-fifty schedule.
And a mutual agreement to discontinue all current and pending legal claims."
Daniel made a note.
He did not look up.
I looked at Nathan.
He was looking at the table.
"Eighty thousand dollars," I said.
"For forty-one thousand taken from our joint account, used to fund a two-point-three million dollar business venture."
Bryce shifted.
"The valuation of that venture is—"
"Is a matter of record with the South Carolina business registry," I said.
"My attorney has the filings."
Nathan looked up then.
His jaw tightened.
"Emily." His voice was low.
"Don't do this."
"Don't do what, Nathan?"
"Don't turn this into something it doesn't have to be.
We have children.
Whatever happened between us—"
"Whatever happened." I kept my voice even.
"You had me sign a document under false pretenses while I was holding our four-month-old son.
You took forty-one thousand dollars from our household account in structured withdrawals designed to avoid detection.
You used that money to fund a business you hid from me for five years.
And when I found out, you offered me the house back and asked me to make it all go away." I paused.
"That is what happened, Nathan.
Those are not things I'm willing to call whatever."
Bryce put his hand on Nathan's arm.
Nathan shook it off.
"You want to go to court?" His voice had changed.
The careful tone was gone.
"Fine.
We'll go to court.
And I will tell them about the studio.
I will tell them how much of that company's early work was funded through my family's connections.
The catering contracts.
The referrals.
The clients Vanessa brought you."
My father, who had not spoken a single word, set his pen down on the table.
"Nathan," he said.
His voice was entirely calm.
"Vanessa brought Emily two clients in twelve years.
Emily's studio has billed four point eight million dollars in that time.
I have the tax records in my car if you would like to review them."
The room went very quiet.
Nathan stared at my father.
My father looked back at him without any particular expression.
"I think," Daniel said pleasantly, "that we're done for today.
We'll be in touch regarding the formal proceedings."
We stood.
Nathan did not.
At the door I paused and turned back.
"Nathan.
The server from the anniversary dinner.
Rosa Mendez.
She gave a statement." I watched his face.
"She was in the doorway the whole time.
She saw everything.
And your mother saw her there and told her to stay quiet."
His face went the color of old chalk.
"Clifford will be hearing from Patricia Hale's office tomorrow," I said.
"Have a good evening."
I walked out with my father beside me.
In the elevator, he put his hand briefly on my shoulder.
"Your mother was right about you," he said.
"What did she say?"
"That you don't know how to quit."
May you like
The elevator doors opened.
We walked out into the afternoon.
