Chapter 12 - WHAT EACH OF US WAS REALLY PROTECTINGThe final direct family confrontation took place without a ballroom.
Michael’s conference room.
Grant.
Patricia.
Me.
Separate attorneys.
No champagne.
No applause.
Michael was there because several financial settlements intersected.
Before we began, Patricia looked at me.
“I owe you an apology.”
Grant looked down.
I waited.
Patricia continued.
“At the reception, I knew you were upset and I cared more about preventing embarrassment than about why.”
“Yes.”
“I also knew Grant expected money from you.”
“Yes.”
“I believed you had agreed.”
She swallowed.
“But I wanted to believe that because I needed him to repay me.”
That was the important part.
Not ignorance.
Motivated ignorance.
“Thank you.”
She looked almost disappointed that I didn’t say I forgave her.
Then Michael asked a practical question that became an emotional one.
“What result is each person trying to protect?”
Grant answered first.
“Harbor Row.”
Michael waited.
Grant exhaled.
“My reputation.”
Better.
Patricia:
“My retirement.”
Then she corrected herself.
“My belief that my son was secure.”
Then me.
I thought about it.
“My independence.”
Grant looked up.
I continued.
“And my pride.”
That surprised him.
“I wanted everybody to believe I had chosen a financially equal partner.”
My throat tightened.
“When Michael questioned your disclosures, I treated his caution like an insult to my judgment.”
Grant’s face changed.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You weren’t supposed to.”
I gave a bitter smile.
“We were both hiding anything that made us feel foolish.”
Difference was, I had hidden discomfort.
Grant had forged my signature.
Different consequences.
Same vulnerability beneath them.
Patricia looked at her son.
“Why didn’t you tell me how bad Harbor Row was?”
Grant laughed weakly.
“You called Dad a failure every time one of his projects lost money.”
Patricia recoiled.
“I did not.”
“You absolutely did.”
“He made reckless decisions.”
“So did I.”
Grant’s eyes filled.
“And I spent seven years trying to make sure you never had to say that about me.”
There was the older wound.
Patricia had confused criticism with preparation.
Grant learned to equate failure with loss of love.
Again:
Explanation.
Not excuse.
Grant looked at me.
“And with Claire, I thought if she knew how much debt there was, she’d think I was using her.”
I answered quietly.
“So you used me without telling me.”
May you like
He nodded.
For once he did not fight the sentence.
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