“I’m not holding anything hostage,” I said. “I’m deciding whether to recommend approval. That’s my job. Evaluate risk. Assess character. Decide if someone deserves the investment.”
My sister stepped between us, eyes pleading. “Please. He didn’t mean it. You know how he is. He jokes around. It’s just his way.”
“His way,” I said, “has been to belittle my son for four years.”
I didn’t raise my voice.
I didn’t need to.
I spoke like someone reading a record into court.
“Every family dinner. Every holiday. Every achievement. When my son made honor roll, Marcus asked if they gave out participation trophies for showing up. When he won the science fair, Marcus said baking soda volcanoes weren’t real science. When he got accepted to college—any college—Marcus made sure everyone knew it wasn’t ‘good enough.’”
Silence.
Thick silence.
The kind of silence where people suddenly remember they were laughing a minute ago and now they can’t find their hands.
My mother’s mouth opened, then closed.
“I didn’t know,” she whispered.
“You laughed,” I said gently.
Not accusing. Just naming.
“Every time,” I continued. “All of you laughed.”
My uncle looked down. My cousin suddenly became fascinated with her wine glass. The people who’d been laughing the loudest were now staring at the ground like it might swallow them and save them from responsibility.
Marcus’s phone rang.
He yanked it out with shaking hands. Looked at the caller ID.
He went paler.
“That’s probably Robert,” I said. “Your business partner.”
Marcus’s eyes shot to mine.
“Robert called me this morning,” I added. “He’s concerned. He mentioned dissolving the partnership if the extension doesn’t go through.”
Marcus answered, voice tight. “Not now, Robert.”
He listened. His breathing changed. His shoulders stiffened.
“I said, not now,” he snapped.
He hung up and shoved the phone back in his pocket like it was burning him.
“The board is waiting,” I said, checking my watch. “Twenty minutes.”
His lips peeled back, not quite a smile. “What do you want?”
An apology, my pride would’ve said.
A public humiliation, the petty part of me would’ve begged for.
But I looked past him.
At my son.
At the pencil in his hand.
At his face, trying to act like this didn’t matter when it obviously did.
“I want you to apologize,” I said. “Not to me.”
I pointed.
“To him.”
Marcus turned toward my son like a man turning toward the edge of a cliff.
The smirk was gone. Replaced by panic.
“I apologize,” Marcus said, voice thin. “The pencil was… inappropriate. I shouldn’t have mocked your college choice.”
My son’s eyes flicked to me, then back to Marcus.
“Why?” my son asked.
Marcus blinked.
“What?”
“Why did you spend four years making fun of everything I did?” my son said. His voice trembled, but he didn’t stop. “What did I ever do to you?”
Marcus opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
No answer.
Because there was no clean answer that didn’t reveal the rot.