The Mercer Freight building rose above downtown behind a wall of glass.
I parked underground and took the elevator to the executive floor.
Rebecca was already waiting near reception.
She looked at me once.
“You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“You want to leave?”
I shook my head.
“No.”
She nodded.
“Then let's get this over with.”
Daniel Mercer met us outside the conference room.
Two attorneys were seated inside, along with someone from human resources.
Dylan wasn't there.
That surprised me.
Daniel opened the door.
“Mara, Rebecca.”
We took our seats.
He remained standing for a moment.
“Before we begin, I want to make one distinction very clear.”
I waited.
“Whatever happens with Dylan is separate from Mercer Freight's relationship with Northline Design.”
Rebecca nodded.
Daniel continued.
“We value your firm's work. Nothing we've seen changes that.”
Some of the tension in my shoulders finally released.
“Thank you.”
Daniel sat down.
Then he placed a printed letter in front of me.
“Is this your signature?”
I looked at it.
“No.”
“Did you authorize Dylan to communicate these terms on behalf of Northline?”
“No.”
Rebecca leaned forward.
“Neither did I.”
One of the attorneys wrote something down.
Daniel placed another document on the table.
“What about this proposed financial arrangement?”
I shook my head.
“I had never seen it before this morning.”
Daniel glanced toward his attorney.
Then back at me.
“Does Dylan understand your role at Northline Design?”
I gave a small, humorless smile.
“He thinks I work from my bedroom.”
Rebecca looked at Daniel.
“She isn't exaggerating.”
Daniel leaned back.
“That explains several conversations we've had with him.”
“What did he tell you?”
“He claimed he had helped you secure our account.”
Rebecca almost laughed.
“Our first Mercer Freight contract was signed eight months before Dylan joined the company.”
Daniel nodded.
“We verified that.”
He picked up another document.
“He also represented himself as someone who could influence future work between our companies.”
I felt heat rise in my face.
“I never gave him that authority.”
“We know.”
Then the attorney spoke.
“There is another matter concerning the property listed in this proposal.”
I looked at the document.
The address was visible near the bottom.
My childhood home.
I placed my finger beside it.
“The ownership information is wrong.”
Daniel studied me.
“Can you explain?”
“Yes.”
I paused.
“But I want my attorney present before I discuss the property in detail.”
“That is reasonable.”
I glanced at the clock.
“Nora should be here soon.”
Daniel nodded.
Then the conference-room door opened.
Dylan walked in.
He stopped immediately.
His eyes moved from me to Rebecca.
Then to Daniel.
Then to the documents on the table.
“What is she doing here?”
Daniel's voice was calm.
“Close the door, Dylan.”
My brother looked at me.
“Mara, seriously?”
I said nothing.
He stepped farther into the room.
“You called my boss?”
“No.”
“You're trying to get me fired because of last night?”
Daniel pushed the forged letter toward him.
“Did you submit this?”
Dylan glanced down.
“That's a preliminary document.”
“Did you have authorization from Mara?”
“We're family.”
Daniel didn't blink.
“That isn't an answer.”
Dylan looked at me.
“She knew I was trying to help.”
“I didn't.”
His expression hardened.
“You knew I was trying to build something for myself.”
“You posted my belongings beside a trash can.”
“That was a joke.”
“You called me dead weight.”
“You're twisting everything.”
Rebecca spoke quietly.
“No one needs to twist anything. The documents speak for themselves.”
Dylan turned toward her.
“Who are you to—”
“Rebecca Shaw,” she said. “Cofounder of Northline Design.”
He frowned.
“So?”
She placed her business card on the table.
“Mara Bennett. Managing partner.”
Dylan stared at the card.
Then at me.
“No.”
I said nothing.
He gave a short laugh.
“She does freelance work.”
Rebecca's expression didn't change.
“She owns half the company.”
The room went quiet.
Dylan looked at Daniel.
“That's not what you told me.”
Daniel's eyebrows rose.
“I never told you she was not a partner.”
“You said her company was involved.”
“Because it is.”
Dylan turned back toward me.
“You've been a partner?”
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“Three years.”
His face changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough for me to see the shock underneath his anger.
“Why didn't you tell us?”
I looked at him.
“I did.”
“When?”
“Christmas, two years ago.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I don't remember that.”
“You were telling Dad about the car you wanted. You interrupted me before I finished.”
Dylan looked toward Dad's imaginary absence, as though somehow our father might appear and rescue him from the conversation.
Then he looked back at me.
“So you kept this secret?”
“I stopped trying to explain things to people who weren't listening.”
His jaw tightened.
“That doesn't give you the right to interfere with my career.”
Daniel answered before I could.
“This meeting isn't about your sister interfering with your career.”
He tapped the forged letter.
“It is about whether you represented yourself as having authority you didn't possess.”
Dylan opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
A knock sounded.
The door opened.
Nora Whitfield stepped inside carrying her leather briefcase.
She looked first at me.
Then at the documents.
Then at Dylan.
Her expression became unreadable.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
Daniel stood.
“Ms. Whitfield.”
Nora nodded.
“Daniel.”
She placed the briefcase on the table.
Dylan stared at her.
“Who is she?”
I looked at my brother.
Then at the deed inside Nora's briefcase.
“The person who is about to explain exactly whose house you tried to offer.”
Dylan's face went pale.
And for the first time since he had carried my belongings into the rain, he looked genuinely uncertain about what he had done.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: The Deed Hit the Table, and My Brother Finally Learned Why the Home He Had Taken for Granted Was Never His to Offer
I Came Home Expecting an Ordinary Tuesday and Found My Belongings Packed, My Family Waiting, and My Brother Already Celebrating My Departure
Part 4 of 12
