Chapter 8 - Charles comes to my house
My father did not visit for three weeks.
Then one evening he appeared outside my townhouse.
He did not use his key.
Good.
He rang.
I opened the door but kept the chain on.
His face changed.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I’m your father.”
“I know.”
“Can I come in?”
I looked behind me.
Gigi was with her sitter upstairs.
“Ten minutes.”
I opened.
Charles sat at the kitchen table.
He looked older than sixty-four.
“I need you to sign the refinancing.”
“No.”
“Even after the review?”
“We don’t have the review.”
“We need liquidity before then.”
“Then negotiate a bridge without my guarantee.”
“The bank wants all principal shareholders.”
“I’m not obligated.”
He stared.
“You will let the company your grandfather started fail because you’re angry at Arthur?”
“It isn’t failing.”
“It could.”
“Then why did nobody tell me how close the covenant was?”
His expression changed.
There.
“What covenant?”
He knew I knew.
The debt-service covenant had been missed by a narrow margin the previous quarter.
The bank had waived it temporarily.
I learned from the audit team.
Charles said:
“We were managing it.”
“Without telling a board member.”
“You stepped away.”
“I stepped away from daily operations. I did not surrender twenty-eight percent ownership.”
He rubbed his eyes.
Then:
“Arthur is the only one who can run the commercial side.”
“No.”
“He built it.”
“He can be replaced.”
“You want him removed.”
“I want independent people deciding whether he should remain.”
Charles looked at me.
“Your mother thinks you’re trying to punish us.”
“I am angry enough to want that.”
At least honest.
“But?”
“I’m not going to use the company as a weapon.”
He almost relaxed.
Then I continued:
“That also means I’m not signing a guarantee to save you from consequences you concealed.”
His mouth tightened.
“That sounds like punishment.”
“No.”
“It feels like it.”
“Feeling denied support is not the same as being punished.”
I had learned that from my own mother without intending to.
Charles left without my signature.
The company survived the week.
May you like
Then another.
Crises lose theatrical force when you stop accepting the countdown someone else gives you.
