Nathan contacted me again the following week.
This time, he used his own number.
His message was short.
Can we talk?
I didn't answer immediately.
I was reviewing furniture samples for the residency.
The guest rooms needed beds and storage cabinets.
I had several photographs spread across the library table.
I looked at the phone again.
Then I replied.
“About what?”
He called almost immediately.
I answered.
For a few seconds, neither of us spoke.
Then he said the company was in trouble.
I already knew that.
He explained that Dad was struggling to keep things running.
Some employees were worried.
The lender was asking questions.
The family was under pressure.
I let him finish.
Then he asked whether I would consider helping.
I closed the furniture catalog.
“Helping how?”
He said perhaps I could speak to Marcus.
Maybe we could find a way to settle the matter privately.
I asked him what he thought should be settled.
He became quiet.
Then he said the documents had probably been prepared incorrectly.
I asked whether he believed my signature had been forged.
He sighed.
“That's not what I'm saying.”
“Then what are you saying?”
He said Dad had been trying to protect the business.
I leaned back in my chair.
“Did you know about the guarantee?”
He didn't answer.
I asked again.
“Did you know?”
Finally, he admitted that Dad had mentioned using my name during the refinancing.
He said he hadn't understood the details.
I asked whether he knew about the lease.
He said Dad had told him it was an arrangement for the family.
I asked about the psychiatric letter.
He said he had seen it.
I felt my fingers tighten around the phone.
“You saw it?”
“Dad said it was just supporting paperwork.”
I closed my eyes.
My brother had seen a document claiming I couldn't make decisions for myself.
And he had still helped bring a locksmith to my home.
I asked him why he hadn't contacted me first.
He said Dad believed I would refuse.
I almost laughed.
“Then why did you think forcing the door was acceptable?”
Nathan didn't answer.
For a moment, I heard only his breathing.
Then he said he was sorry things had become so complicated.
I waited.
He didn't say he was sorry for helping.
He didn't say he was sorry for bringing the suitcases.
He was sorry about the situation.
There was a difference.
I told him that if he wanted to make things right, he needed to tell the truth to the investigators.
He said Dad would never forgive him.
I looked toward the library window.
“You were willing to let me take responsibility for a debt I never agreed to. Why should I protect you from telling the truth?”
He became defensive.
“You've always thought you were better than us.”
That sentence took me back years.
The Christmas dinners.
The jokes.
The little comments about my work.
I had never thought I was better.
I had only wanted to be treated fairly.
“I don't want to be better than you, Nathan. I want you to stop treating me like something you can take.”
He didn't respond.
Eventually, he said he needed time.
I told him he could take it.
But I would not interfere with the investigation.
We ended the call.
I remained at the table.
The furniture samples were still spread in front of me.
I picked up the notebook.
I wrote down the measurements for the guest rooms.
Then I returned to work.
Later that evening, Marcus called.
I told him about Nathan's admission.
He asked me to write down exactly what had been said while I still remembered it clearly.
I did.
I didn't add anything.
I didn't remove anything.
I simply recorded the conversation.
The next day, Marcus explained that any information Nathan provided would need to be reviewed through the proper process.
I agreed.
I wasn't going to turn a private telephone call into a legal conclusion.
But I wasn't going to pretend it hadn't happened either.
Click here to continue reading: PART 19: The Reporters Finally Published Their Investigation, and My Father’s Carefully Protected Reputation Began to Collapse
My Family Remembered My Address Only After I Bought the One Thing They Could Not Afford to Lose
Part 18 of 20
