Chapter 8: What Richard Didn't Know About My Father
My dad agreed to meet Richard.
He didn't tell me where or when until the morning it happened — a Saturday, three weeks after the phone call.
He texted me at eight a.m.: *Breakfast.
Done by ten.
I'll call you after.*
I sat in the dorm room with my coffee and waited.
Chloe was home for the weekend — Richard had summoned her, which she'd told me about with a flat, tired expression that said she'd already fought that battle and lost.
Before she left, she'd stood in the doorway with her bag over her shoulder and said, "Whatever happens today — I want you to know that the part I told you was real.
That hasn't changed."
"I know," I said.
She nodded once and left.
The call from Dad came at 9:47.
"How did it go?" I asked.
"Interesting man, your roommate's father."
"Dad."
"He came in ready to negotiate.
He had a whole structure worked out — what our families could offer each other, how a relationship between you and Chloe could be mutually beneficial, what kind of introductions he could make." A pause.
"He had a folder."
"A folder."
"Printed pages.
Some of it was about me — my businesses, my properties, a rough estimate of net worth that was about forty percent too low.
He'd done real research.
He just hadn't done enough."
"What did you say?"
"I let him finish.
Then I told him what I actually own."
I waited.
"He went quiet for a while after that.
Then he tried a different approach — said he admired the strategy, that we were clearly alike, that men like us should work together rather than at cross-purposes."
"What did you say to that?"
"I told him we weren't alike.
That I'd dressed in ripped jeans on a Saturday morning to protect my daughter, and that everything he'd done in the last two months had been to use his."
The line was quiet.
"How did he take that?"
"He didn't like it.
He told me I was being sentimental.
That this was how the world worked and I was naive to pretend otherwise." Another pause.
"Then he told me that if I wasn't willing to cooperate, he had other ways of making the situation work in his favor."
My stomach dropped.
"What does that mean?"
"It means he has something.
Or he thinks he does." Dad's voice was calm — the particular calm he got when he was already three steps ahead.
"He mentioned a business partner of mine.
Someone from about six years ago.
He said there were questions about how that partnership ended."
"Were there?"
"There were.
And the answers are all clean.
But it would take time to prove that, and time is what he's betting on." A pause.
"He wants me uncomfortable.
He wants leverage."
"Dad — "
"I'm not worried about it.
But I want you to know what he's doing, so you understand what Chloe is going home to this weekend."
I sat with that.
"She told him she was done," I said.
"On the phone.
She said she wasn't doing it anymore."
"I know.
He mentioned that too." A brief pause.
"He wasn't angry about it.
He was amused.
That's the part that tells you who he is."
I looked out the window at the empty quad below.
"What do we do now?"
"We wait," Dad said.
"He's going to make a move.
And when he does, I want it on record."
"On record how?"
"I've spoken to someone.
A lawyer.
And I've asked your mother to pull together some documentation on the business partner situation — everything clean and timestamped." He paused.
"If Richard wants to play this as a leverage game, I want the board set before he realizes we're playing."
I exhaled slowly.
"And Chloe?"
A longer pause this time.
"That's your call," he said.
"Not mine."
I was still sitting with the phone in my hand when a text came through from an unknown number.
No name.
No greeting.
Just: *Your father should be careful about what he thinks he knows.
This doesn't have to get difficult.*
I screenshot it and sent it to my dad.
His reply was immediate.
May you like
*Good.
That's exactly what I needed.*
