Chapter 3: What Dad Already Knew
The name on the screen was Richard Calloway.
Dad knew that name.
I could see it in the way his shoulders dropped — not in surprise, but in something older.
Something that had been waiting.
"Richard Calloway," he said.
Not a question.
"He's been my legal counsel for six years," I said.
"He's calling because the announcement just went public."
Marcus looked between us.
"You know who that is?"
Dad didn't answer him.
"Dad." Marcus's voice sharpened.
"Do you know who that is?"
"I introduced them," Dad said quietly.
The table went very still.
Mom turned to look at him.
"What?"
"Six years ago." Dad picked up his wineglass, then set it back down without drinking.
"Alexandra came to me.
She had the concept, the early numbers, the structure.
She needed someone who understood entertainment contracts." He paused.
"I gave her Richard's card."
Jennifer's fork touched her plate with a small click.
Marcus stared at his father.
"You knew.
This whole time, you knew what she was building."
"I knew what she was trying to build," Dad said.
"I didn't know it would become this."
"You sat here." Marcus's voice had gone very quiet.
"You sat here and let me say all of that.
You let Mom offer her the guest room.
You poured wine and said nothing."
"You didn't ask me," Dad said.
"You were too busy explaining things."
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked four times before anyone spoke.
Marcus pushed back from the table slightly.
Not standing.
Just creating distance.
"This is unbelievable."
"Marcus—" Mom started.
"No." He looked at me.
"How long?
How long have you been running a company worth — how much?
How much is it worth?"
"The deal is valued at 3.8 billion," I said.
"The company itself is valued separately."
Jennifer made a sound that was almost a laugh.
It didn't make it all the way.
"The apartment," Marcus said.
"The car.
The Target blouses."
"I like Target."
"Alexandra." His voice cracked on my name.
Not in anger.
In something he didn't have a word for yet.
"Why didn't you just tell us?"
I looked at him for a moment.
At the confusion on his face.
At the way he was searching for somewhere to put this new information and finding that none of his existing shelves fit it.
"Because I wanted to see," I said.
"See what?"
"What you actually thought of me.
Without the money.
Without the title.
Without anything you could measure."
Mom made that small sound again.
"And now you know," I said.
Marcus stood up.
He walked to the living room doorway and stood there with his back to us, one hand on the frame.
The television was still running the segment.
They had moved to footage of the press conference — a podium, cameras, a room full of journalists.
I was at that podium.
Three days ago.
In a room Marcus had never imagined me standing in.
He watched the screen for a long moment.
Then he turned around.
His face had rearranged itself into something harder.
"You did this on purpose," he said.
"This whole dinner.
You let it happen."
"You started it," I said.
"I just didn't stop it."
"That's the same thing."
"It really isn't."
Jennifer stood up from the table.
She picked up her plate and carried it toward the kitchen without a word.
The diamond bracelet caught the light one more time as she passed through the doorway.
Dad finally looked at me directly.
His eyes were tired in a way that had nothing to do with the hour.
"I'm sorry," he said.
"I should have said something earlier."
"Yes," I said.
"You should have."
Mom reached across the table and put her hand over mine.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't need to.
From the kitchen, the sound of a plate being set down.
Then Jennifer's voice, low and tight, just audible through the doorway.
"Marcus.
Come in here."
Marcus didn't move.
"Marcus." Harder this time.
He looked at me once more.
Then he walked into the kitchen.
The door didn't close all the way behind him.
May you like
And through the gap, I heard Jennifer say four words in a voice I had never heard from her before.
"How much does she know?"
