“Do you understand why you moved out?”
He looked at his hands.
“Because I don’t trust my own judgment around her right now.”
That hurt him to say.
I let it.
No reassurance.
No prediction.
Then he said:
“I don’t trust myself around you either.”
I stared.
“What?”
“You make it easy.”
He smiled sadly.
“For me to become twelve.”
“You tell me what’s sensible.”
“You solve.”
“You tell Celeste what to do.”
“You know everyone.”
“I come here and suddenly I don’t have to decide anything.”
My throat tightened.
“That sounds familiar.”
“Yes.”
He continued.
“I think Paige and I built opposite resentments around the same thing.”
“She thought you controlled too much.”
“I liked being able to fall back on it.”
“So when she pushed against you, I avoided taking sides because part of me knew she was fighting something I benefited from.”
I sat quietly.
That was painful.
Also fair.
“What do you need from me?”
“Less.”
The word hurt.
He saw it.
“Not less love.”
“Less management.”
I nodded.
“I can try.”
“I know.”
“Don’t say ‘I know’ like you expect me to fail.”
He smiled.
“I learned that from you.”
We laughed.
That evening changed our relationship more than the shareholder review.
Because Grant finally named the part I had not wanted to see.
Paige’s entitlement had grown in soil I helped fertilize.
Not her slap.
Not her deceit.
Those were hers.
But the family structure around money?
That belonged to all of us.
At four weeks, Paige requested a meeting with me.
Not through Grant.
Through Miriam.
I agreed.
Miriam’s office.
Neutral.
Paige arrived without her consulting-company lawyer this time.
Her personal attorney waited outside.
Good.
She sat opposite me.
The bruise on my face had faded almost completely.
Paige looked at the spot anyway.
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
She continued.
“I hit you.”
“Yes.”
“I poured water over you.”
“Yes.”
“I sent the invitation from Grant’s phone.”
“Yes.”
“I used the old administrative account to make the spa authorizations look approved.”
“Yes.”
“I submitted duplicate expenses after I knew some had already been paid.”
“Yes.”
“I prepared the restructuring draft assuming Grant could convince you.”
“Yes.”
Her voice shook.
“I was wrong.”
I asked:
“Which part?”
