Chapter 7 - The Phone Call That Ended Our Family
"You're lying."
That was Silas's first response.
Not congratulations.
Not surprise.
Not even an apology.
Just two words spoken by a man whose imagined financial empire had collapsed in less than an hour.
"Look it up," I replied.
He disappeared from the video frame.
I heard frantic tapping.
My mother stared at me.
"Gideon, sweetheart..."
There it was.
Sweetheart.
A word I hadn't heard from her without an accompanying request in years.
"Please don't do anything rash."
"I haven't."
"Silas's entire future depends on this investment."
"Then he should have handled his company's finances responsibly."
My father stepped forward.
"Your brother made mistakes."
"Yes."
"But family should help family."
I almost smiled.
Not because anything was amusing.
Because the sentence sounded extraordinary coming from a man who had watched his grandson suffer and hadn't lifted a finger.
"Where was that philosophy thirty minutes ago, Dad?"
He looked away.
My mother began crying again.
"It was an accident with the casserole!"
Felix shifted in the backseat.
I lowered the call volume.
My mother continued.
"I lost my temper! That's all! Every parent loses their temper sometimes!"
"You aren't his parent."
"Gideon, please!"
"You hurt my son."
"I'll apologize!"
"An apology isn't a transaction, Mom."
She pressed her fingers against her forehead.
"Tell Apex to sign the papers. Please. If Silas's investment falls apart, he can't help us with the house."
I stared at her.
Even now, she was calculating.
Not Felix's pain.
Not the frightening experience he'd endured.
The house.
Silas's future.
Her financial security.
I turned the camera slightly toward myself so they wouldn't see Felix unless he chose to participate.
"Felix doesn't want to speak with you."
My mother inhaled sharply.
"Let me talk to my grandson!"
"No."
"I'm his grandmother!"
"And I'm his father."
Silas reappeared.
His face had become gray.
He held another phone in one hand.
"It's true."
My father turned toward him.
"What?"
Silas looked directly into the screen.
"Gideon's on the website."
I said nothing.
"Managing partner. Founding partner."
He swallowed.
"Why didn't you tell us?"
I considered the question.
Then I remembered our last Thanksgiving.
I'd tried telling my parents about an investment milestone.
Silas interrupted to discuss his Porsche.
My mother praised him for having expensive taste.
My father asked me whether I could increase the mortgage transfer.
"You never asked," I said.
Nobody answered.
"For five years, you treated my financial support like an entitlement. You didn't care where the money came from, as long as it arrived."
"Gideon—" my father began.
"And tonight, when my son needed help, you sat there."
He went silent.
I looked at Silas.
"You can sell the watches. You can sell the Porsche when your finance obligations allow it. You can find an apartment that doesn't cost more than your business earns."
"Gideon, please..."
"You can also explain your expenses to your co-founder."
My mother began sobbing.
"We'll lose everything!"
"No, Mom."
I looked at the Christmas lights reflected in my windshield.
"You're losing the lifestyle you expected me to maintain. That's not the same thing."
She covered her mouth.
For a moment, I saw something familiar in her expression.
The helpless mother who had once held my hand when I was sick.
The woman who had taught me how to tie my shoes.
The person I'd spent most of my adult life hoping would eventually be proud of me.
And that was the most painful part.
I still loved the memory of her.
But I could no longer allow the person she'd become to hurt my child.
Silas lowered his voice.
"Please, Gideon. I'll pay everything back."
"Good. Work with the accountants."
"I'll do anything."
"Start by taking responsibility."
My father stepped closer to the camera.
"Son, can we talk tomorrow?"
I considered him for a moment.
Then I said something I'd needed to say for years.
"Dad, tomorrow belongs to Felix."
I ended the call.
Then I blocked their numbers, email addresses, and social media accounts.
Not because I believed blocking someone solved every problem.
There would be financial documents to review, lawyers to consult, and difficult decisions ahead.
But for one night, I wanted my child to exist in a world where nobody could reach through a telephone and make him feel unwanted.
I put my phone away.
Felix was looking at me.
"Are we going home now, Dad?"
I turned around in my seat.
"Yeah, buddy."
He held up the candy cane the doctor had given him.
"Can we still make the lemon cake?"
"Absolutely."
"Even though Grandma didn't like the first one?"
I smiled.
"Especially because of that."
He thought about it.
"Can I put extra frosting on this one?"
"All the frosting you want."
"And tomorrow, can we eat it for breakfast?"
I pretended to consider this outrageous proposal.
"Well, Christmas rules might allow it."
Felix giggled.
The sound almost undid me.
I started the SUV and drove toward the home that belonged to us.
For the first time in years, I didn't feel obligated to rescue my family from the consequences of their decisions.
I only wanted to protect the little boy sitting behind me.
I believed the worst was over.
May you like
But shortly after midnight, Julian sent me a message that changed everything.
Gideon, there's another problem with Titan. You need to see the original guarantee documents. Someone used your signature on an agreement you never approved.
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