Thomas called me on Friday morning.
He asked whether I could come to his office that afternoon.
His voice was careful.
"We've received the remaining records."
I looked at the framed photograph of Robert and Ray.
"Everything?"
"Most of what we requested."
I told him I would come.
Jeremy accompanied me.
When we arrived, Thomas had arranged several documents across his desk.
There was a thick folder.
A copy of the company's incorporation paperwork.
A record of its ownership changes.
And another envelope.
This one was older.
Its paper had turned yellow.
Thomas explained that it had been included among the company's archived documents.
It contained a letter Ray had written shortly before his death in 2015.
My hands became cold.
"Why is this here?"
"It appears to have been kept with the company's historical ownership records."
Thomas opened the envelope.
The letter was addressed to the company's legal representative at the time.
Ray had written about the early years.
He described the first workshop.
The financial difficulties.
The original loan.
And the person who had made the business possible when the banks refused to help.
Me.
I read slowly.
He had written that my assistance had been given freely, but that the agreement should never be treated as an ordinary favor.
He wanted the company to preserve the terms.
He wanted future owners to understand the obligation.
And he specifically referred to the ownership provision.
I stopped reading.
Jeremy leaned closer.
"Mom?"
I continued.
Ray had explained that he didn't want his son to inherit the company without understanding how it had been built.
He wanted Doug to know that the original business had depended on trust between people who had very little money to spare.
I felt tears gathering.
Not because of the legal language.
Because Ray had remembered.
He had remembered after the company became successful.
He had remembered after the first workshop disappeared.
He had remembered when there were more employees than he could possibly have imagined in 1998.
And he had made sure his promise was preserved.
Thomas waited until I finished reading.
Then he explained what the additional records established.
The original agreement had been referenced in the company's incorporation paperwork.
The ownership provision had not simply disappeared.
It had been carried into the company's historical records.
However, Thomas emphasized that the precise legal consequences still needed to be established.
He had prepared a formal notice for the company.
It requested recognition and clarification of the ownership interest described in the agreement.
I read it carefully.
Then I signed where he indicated.
Jeremy watched me.
"Are you nervous?"
"A little."
He smiled.
"That's understandable."
Thomas placed the signed document into his folder.
"There is one more matter."
He turned toward Jeremy.
"The company has responded to your request regarding the dismissal."
Jeremy sat straighter.
Thomas explained that Frank had persuaded Doug to issue a revised employment statement.
It would acknowledge that Jeremy had been dismissed publicly without a documented performance basis.
It would also confirm that the company had withdrawn the dismissal.
Jeremy listened quietly.
"Does it mention the party?"
"Yes."
"Does it say why I was fired?"
Thomas nodded.
"It refers to the owner's inappropriate comments concerning your guest."
Jeremy looked down.
For a moment, he didn't speak.
Then he said, "That's better."
It wasn't everything.
But it was honest.
I looked at him.
"Are you going back?"
He took a breath.
"I haven't decided."
I nodded.
There was no need to rush.
We left Thomas's office shortly before four.
On the way home, Jeremy asked whether he could keep the photograph of Robert and Ray for a few days.
"Of course."
He placed it carefully inside his coat.
When we reached my house, he stayed for dinner.
I made soup again.
It had become something of a habit.
After we ate, he helped me put the dishes away.
Then he stood in front of the bookshelf.
He looked at the photograph of my husband and Ray.
"Grandpa really believed in him."
"Yes."
"And you did too."
"I did."
Jeremy turned toward me.
"Do you think Ray knew his son might forget?"
I thought about the letter.
The careful handwriting.
The repeated references to preserving the agreement.
"I think Ray knew that people sometimes forget things when life becomes comfortable."
Jeremy nodded.
He looked at the photograph one more time.
Then he placed it back on the shelf.
That night, after he left, I sat alone in the living room.
The original agreement was safely stored away.
The company's records were finally being examined.
And the written correction concerning Jeremy's dismissal was on its way.
I had no idea how the ownership dispute would ultimately be resolved.
But I knew something important now.
Ray hadn't left his promise to chance.
He had put it in writing.
He had repeated it in later records.
And he had left a letter explaining why it mattered.
I switched off the living room light.
The photograph remained on the bookshelf.
Two men standing outside a little workshop.
One dream.
One promise.
And a woman who had believed in both.
Click here to continue reading: PART 17: Doug Finally Read His Father’s Last Letter, and the Man Who Had Inherited Everything Began to Understand What He Had Never Been Told
My Son Asked Me to Attend His Christmas Party Because He Couldn’t Bear Another Holiday Sitting Alone
Part 16 of 20
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