Chapter 5 - The Money Brian Said Would Come Back
Howard Lin agreed to meet me only after confirming with Brian that I was still entitled to discuss our joint tax matters.
He was careful about what company information he could share.
Dawson Residential Group was Brian’s separate business.
I did not automatically have unlimited access to its books simply because I was his wife.
But Brian had used portions of our joint finances to support the company over the years.
Those transactions were visible.
Eighteen months earlier, we transferred $40,000 from savings to the business.
Brian told me it covered equipment purchases.
Six months later, $25,000 returned.
I considered the matter settled.
It wasn’t.
Howard showed me our tax records.
Additional transfers had occurred from Brian’s personal account into the company.
His bonuses.
A tax refund.
Money from selling his motorcycle.
Altogether, nearly $110,000.
“Why didn't I know?”
Howard adjusted his glasses.
“I assumed you did.”
Everyone assumed I knew.
That sentence was becoming the theme of my marriage.
Then Brian finally admitted the immediate problem.
One of his largest custom-home projects in Potomac had gone badly.
The clients changed architects midway through construction.
Permits slowed.
A subcontractor dispute delayed framing.
Brian had absorbed more costs than expected because his contract capped certain categories.
Another renovation had a six-figure payment delayed because the owners disputed completion.
Payroll was still being made.
Barely.
The $425,000 credit line would give the company enough room to finish active jobs and collect final payments.
“If those receivables come in,” Brian said, “the house is never at real risk.”
“If.”
“They will.”
“You don't get to gamble Dad’s house on your confidence.”
His jaw tightened.
“It’s sitting there collecting rent while my company suffocates.”
There it was.
Resentment.
My father’s house had never looked like security to Brian.
It looked like unused capital.
Then I asked why Donna was so involved.
He looked away.
“She invested in the company.”
“How much?”
“Years ago? Two hundred fifty thousand.”
I stared at him.
Donna had never mentioned it.
“She helped me start.”
“And now?”
“She wants some of her money back.”
“How much?”
Brian hesitated.
“Most of it.”
The answer rearranged the problem.
The company was not only trying to survive difficult projects.
Donna was pulling money out.
“When did she ask for it?”
“Last year.”
“Why?”
“She’s sixty-two.”
“So?”
“She wants security.”
I stared at him.
“And you decided her security should come from my father’s house.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No, Brian.”
May you like
I looked toward the burgundy folder on Julia’s conference table.
“That is exactly what you were trying to make fair.”
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