Chapter 7 - THE WATCH I BOUGHT HIM
“One point two million dollars.”
I repeated the number because I couldn't make sense of it.
Marianne watched me from across her desk.
“Have you ever signed a personal guarantee for Grant's business?”
“No.”
“Has he ever asked you to?”
“Not directly.”
She pointed to the attached identification page.
“Do you know where this copy of your license came from?”
I did.
Six months earlier, Grant had helped me renew our homeowners insurance.
He'd scanned my license using his office printer.
I remembered teasing him because he scanned it crooked.
Now that same crooked image appeared in a proposed financial guarantee.
I felt sick.
Marianne remained calm.
“A proposed guarantee isn't necessarily an enforceable obligation,” she said. “We need to confirm whether it was actually submitted to a lender or executed.”
I nodded.
But my thoughts were elsewhere.
I remembered Grant standing in our kitchen last spring, telling me he felt like a failure.
His latest commercial project had collapsed.
I'd hugged him.
I'd told him we were partners.
I'd promised that no financial setback would change how I saw him.
He'd kissed my forehead and thanked me.
Now I wondered whether he'd heard love or permission.
That afternoon, Grant agreed to meet me at a diner near our house.
We used to go there after long workdays.
He ordered coffee.
I ordered nothing.
I placed a copy of the guarantee between us.
“Explain this.”
He stared at it.
His jaw tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“That's what you're worried about?”
“Lena—”
“Did you submit my name as a guarantor?”
He rubbed his face.
“It was a draft.”
“Did you authorize someone to prepare it?”
He looked away.
“Yes.”
“Without asking me.”
“I was going to explain.”
“When? After somebody tried to collect?”
He leaned forward.
“The project needed stronger financial backing. Mom was afraid we'd lose the investors.”
“So you used mine.”
“I thought once you understood the numbers, you'd agree.”
I stared at him.
“You thought you could decide first and ask permission later.”
He didn't answer.
“Grant, look at me.”
He did.
“Did you sign my name?”
“No.”
I studied his face.
“Then who did?”
He hesitated.
“I don't know whether anyone did.”
I wanted to shout.
Instead, I took a slow breath.
“You need to tell me everything. Right now.”
He looked exhausted.
For the first time, I noticed how much weight he'd lost.
“Mom borrowed money against the house last year,” he said.
“Evelyn's house?”
He nodded.
“She used the proceeds to cover project expenses. Then the bank tightened its terms. We needed investors to close.”
“How much does she owe?”
“More than she told me.”
“Does Walter know?”
“Not all of it.”
I looked at my husband.
This was the man who had told me not to make Thanksgiving about myself.
While his mother humiliated me, he'd stood quietly beside her.
And now I understood why.
He'd been afraid of upsetting the person controlling his financial future.
“That doesn't excuse what you did,” I said.
“I know.”
It was the first time he'd said those words without adding a defense.
Then he reached for my hand.
I moved it away.
“I'm not ready for that.”
He nodded.
I noticed the silver watch on his wrist.
I'd given it to him for our fifth anniversary.
On the back, I'd engraved:
To all the years we build together.
For eight years, I'd believed that's what we were doing.
“Take off the watch,” I said.
He looked startled.
“Why?”
“I want you to read the engraving.”
He removed it slowly.
For several seconds, he stared at the words.
Then his eyes filled.
“I've messed this up.”
“Yes.”
He swallowed.
“I thought if Sterling House succeeded, I'd finally have something that was mine.”
“You already had a marriage.”
He lowered his head.
I waited.
But an apology wasn't enough anymore.
“Tell me about the blue binder,” I said.
His expression changed.
“Mom won't give it back.”
“Why?”
“Because there's an agreement inside that could stop the development.”
I leaned forward.
“What agreement?”
He hesitated.
“The one your mother insisted on.”
The diner seemed to grow quieter.
“What does it say?”
“Mom told me it required a permanent community food space on the property.”
“That doesn't stop a retirement development.”
“No,” Grant admitted. “But it reduces the area available for luxury units. And the projected returns.”
“Then why hide it?”
He looked miserable.
“Because Mom promised Walter the property was free of those restrictions.”
I stared at him.
“Did you know she was lying?”
“Not at first.”
“When did you find out?”
He looked at the watch.
“Wednesday. Before Thanksgiving.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew before your mother humiliated me.”
He said nothing.
“You knew she was using my father's papers, and you still told me to go along with it.”
“Lena—”
I stood.
“I'm done talking.”
He reached into his coat.
“Please. There's something else.”
He took out a small brown envelope.
Inside was a photocopy of an old check.
It was made payable to Evelyn Sterling.
The date was from 2011.
The amount was $240,000.
And the issuing account belonged to a company I'd never heard of.
Mercer Bell Holdings.
I looked at Grant.
“What is this?”
He swallowed.
“Mom received it when she agreed to put the kitchen property on hold.”
“Who paid her?”
“I don't know.”
Then he pointed to the back.
There was an endorsement.
May you like
And underneath it, written in my father's unmistakable handwriting, were four words.
For Lena's future only.
