Chapter 7 - My Father’s Name on the Documents
Nothing magically became mine because of one old piece of paper.
Rebecca made that clear.
Documents could be superseded.
Ownership structures could change.
Rights could expire.
Signatures could be challenged.
Reality wasn't a Facebook revenge story where someone waved a forgotten deed and suddenly owned half the city.
Reality required records.
So we followed them.
And the records were devastating.
Dad's original interest in Mercer Family Holdings had been assigned to me.
Mom had hidden the assignment.
Then years later, she treated the company as though the transfer had never happened.
Properties moved through it.
Loans were secured.
Entities were created beneath it.
Eventually, Eric began operating those entities.
"Did he know?" I asked.
Mom sat across from me.
"I don't know when he found out."
"When did you tell him?"
"Three years ago."
I laughed once.
"So yes."
She lowered her head.
Eric knew.
Three years.
He knew there was a document potentially giving me an ownership interest in the company sitting above his businesses.
And then he used one of those businesses to buy my condo.
The arrogance was breathtaking.
Or desperation.
Probably both.
Dad and I spent the afternoon reviewing records.
It was strange.
We weren't rebuilding a relationship.
Not exactly.
We were investigating the ruins of one.
At six, Rebecca received an email.
Eric had hired counsel.
Good.
That meant the casual phone calls would stop.
His attorney proposed mediation.
Rebecca looked at me.
"Interested?"
"Eventually."
"Not now?"
"Not until I know what happened."
She smiled slightly.
"You're an engineer."
"Unfortunately."
That evening, Dad and I walked outside.
Atlanta was cooling.
He asked if I wanted dinner.
I almost said no.
Then said yes.
We went to a diner.
Nothing dramatic.
Burgers.
Coffee.
Fifteen years.
He told me about Charleston.
I told him about Dubai.
He knew about my career.
That surprised me.
"How?"
"Internet."
I laughed.
"You Googled me?"
"Constantly."
It was both sweet and heartbreaking.
"Why didn't you email my work address?"
"I did once."
"What happened?"
"No response."
Another missing message.
Maybe spam.
Maybe interference.
We would never know.
At the end of dinner, Dad slid something across the table.
A small brass key.
"What is this?"
"Safe-deposit box."
"Whose?"
"Mine."
"Why are you giving it to me?"
"Because there's something inside you should see."
The next morning, we went to the bank.
The box contained financial records.
But also something else.
A video drive.
Dad had recorded himself fifteen years ago.
Insurance, he explained.
In case the property dispute became worse.
We watched it in Rebecca's office.
A younger version of my father appeared on screen.
Dark hair.
Straight shoulders.
Exhausted eyes.
"If Natalie ever sees this, I want her to know something."
I stopped breathing.
"I did not transfer my ownership to Eric. I transferred my remaining interest for Natalie's benefit because I was afraid Diane's efforts to protect Eric would eventually consume everything."
Mom had known.
Dad continued.
"Natalie has always been the responsible one. That's exactly why I'm worried. People assume the responsible child needs less protection."
I looked away.
Those words landed harder than anything else.
Dad had understood.
Fifteen years earlier.
The video continued.
"If Eric grows up and becomes responsible, I hope Natalie shares whatever she wants with him. But it must be her choice."
My choice.
Something my family had repeatedly taken from me.
When the video ended, nobody spoke.
Then Rebecca's assistant entered.
"Sorry."
She looked concerned.
"There's someone here."
"Who?"
"Eric."
Rebecca frowned.
"His lawyer?"
"No."
"Then tell him—"
"He brought your mother."
I stood.
Mom entered first.
Eric followed.
But the smug man from my condo was gone.
He looked exhausted.
His hair was unwashed.
His eyes were red.
He placed a folder on the table.
"I'm done."
I stared at him.
"Done with what?"
"Fighting."
Mom looked at him.
"Eric—"
"No."
He opened the folder.
Bank accounts.
Company records.
Passwords.
Loan documents.
"I screwed up."
I didn't respond.
He looked at Dad.
Then me.
"I screwed up everything."
For one dangerous second, I almost felt sorry for him.
Then he said:
"But Mom started it."
Mom gasped.
May you like
And just like that, Eric reminded me exactly who he was.
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