Chapter 2 - TRAVIS HAD TOLD EVERYONE I WAS “EMOTIONAL”Dad got me inside.
Not into the house.
Into his rental car.
I refused to sit anywhere Savannah had been living.
He drove me directly to the hospital.
The baby was fine.
No placental problem.
No injury to my abdomen.
My knee was bruised.
My upper arm showed finger marks.
The obstetrician kept me for monitoring because stress had triggered contractions.
Not labor.
Yet.
Dad sat beside the bed.
He looked enormous in the small hospital chair.
I had spent my childhood believing that size meant safety.
At thirty-one, I knew better.
“Tell me about the loan papers.”
He exhaled.
“Brooke.”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“You knew something before you walked into that yard.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
He rubbed one hand across his jaw.
“First National Piedmont called me yesterday.”
That meant nothing.
“Why would a bank call you?”
“Because Mercer Building Supply is listed as a secondary guarantor on a credit facility Travis applied for.”
I stared.
“What?”
Travis ran Callahan Custom Homes.
High-end renovations.
Additions.
Luxury kitchens.
At least, that was what his company did when we married.
During the last two years he had moved aggressively into speculative new construction.
Three houses at once.
Then five.
I knew business was tight.
I did not know my father’s company was involved.
“You guaranteed his loans?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Dad’s expression tightened.
“Three years ago, Travis asked Mercer Supply to extend materials credit to Callahan Custom Homes.”
Reasonable.
Dad sold building materials.
Travis bought them.
“Then he asked for a corporate support letter for a line of credit.”
“And you gave it?”
“I gave the bank a letter confirming our supplier relationship and an option agreement.”
“What option agreement?”
Dad looked ashamed.
That was unusual enough to frighten me.
“If Callahan defaulted on certain material balances, Mercer could take assignment of two project contracts.”
I stared.
“You made a business deal with my husband and never told me?”
“He asked me not to involve you.”
“Why?”
“He said you hated mixing family and business.”
That was true.
Because I had told Travis exactly that after our wedding.
No jobs for cousins.
No family loans.
No business arrangements that made holidays into board meetings.
Dad continued.
“The bank called because Travis submitted a new package. This time there’s a personal guaranty with your name.”
My heartbeat changed.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“The package pledges your interest in the Mercer Family Property LLC.”
I went completely still.
My mother’s property.
Before she died, she and Dad placed three rental properties and a small commercial building into an LLC.
Dad owned fifty percent.
I owned twenty-five.
My younger brother owned twenty-five.
My interest was separate property.
Protected in our prenup.
Travis could not pledge it.
“I never agreed.”
“That’s why I came.”
Dad’s voice hardened.
“The bank sent me a copy because my company’s support agreement was referenced again.”
“Is my signature on it?”
“Yes.”
My throat closed.
“Does it look real?”
Dad hesitated.
“Yes.”
I looked toward the fetal monitor.
Steady heartbeat.
I needed something steady.
“Where is Travis?”
“Your neighbor let him out of the kennel after we left.”
Despite everything, I almost laughed.
Dad didn’t.
“Savannah drove him away.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Did you call the police?”
Dad’s face changed.
“No.”
I stared.
“He put his pregnant wife in a kennel.”
“I got you out.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
“I wanted to get you checked first.”
Reasonable.
Maybe.
Then he said:
“And I didn’t want Travis disappearing before we understood the banking issue.”
There.
Business.
Already competing with what happened to me.
I felt something old and familiar.
My father loved me fiercely.
He also believed every crisis became easier once turned into a transaction.
“Dad.”
“I’m listening.”
“When did Travis tell you I was emotional?”
His eyes moved.
That was answer enough.
“How long?”
“Brooke—”
“How long?”
“Months.”
I stared.
“What did he say?”
“That pregnancy had been hard.”
It hadn’t.
Physically, I had been healthy.
“He said you were anxious.”
“I was anxious because he was disappearing overnight.”
Dad said nothing.
“He said I was controlling, didn’t he?”
“Yes.”
“And paranoid?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
I laughed.
Then started crying.
Travis had not merely been cheating.
He had been preparing the people around me to reinterpret anything I said.
Dad reached toward my hand.
I moved it away.
“Don’t.”
His face fell.
“Brooke.”
“You believed him.”
“Not about everything.”
“You believed enough.”
That was the first crack between my father and me.
The kennel had been Travis’s cruelty.
May you like
But the system around him had been built partly from people who trusted his version before asking for mine.
Including my father.
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