“Until the current contract ends.”
“This says eighty-nine hundred.”
“That’s correct.”
A pause.
Then his voice hardened.
“You nearly tripled the bill because your feelings got hurt at dinner?”
“No.”
“Maya.”
“Dad.”
“Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not.”
I turned toward the window.
“I stopped approving an exception.”
Silence.
“What exception?”
“Our standard price for a company your size is eighty-nine hundred. You’ve been paying thirty-two fifty because I held you at our early-customer rate.”
Another pause.
Longer.
“You never told me that.”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I could almost hear him doing the math.
Then he found the line he always returned to.
“Family helps family.”
“I did.”
“What?”
“I helped.”
I kept my voice steady.
“For three years.”
His breathing changed.
“You’re seriously going to punish seventy employees because of a family argument?”
“No.”
“Then what do you call this?”
“Company pricing.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Your current contract remains exactly as written. Nothing changes until expiration. After that, you can renew at our commercial rate, transition to another provider, or request temporary month-to-month service while you move.”
He went silent.
There was no threat to fight.
No cruel deadline.
No system being shut down.
Choice is frustrating when someone expects leverage and discovers they have none.
Dad finally said, “Fine.”
I waited.
“We’ll replace you.”
“That’s your right.”
“You think I can’t find warehouse software?”
“I’m sure you can.”
“You’re willing to lose your biggest customer over this?”
That was when I realized he genuinely did not know.
Not exaggerating.
Not performing.
He truly believed Whitaker Hospitality still kept DockLine alive.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“You haven’t been our biggest customer in years.”
Silence.
“We have forty-three accounts.”
“You told everyone that Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“I assumed most were small.”
“Some are.”
I looked toward Elena.
She pretended not to listen.
“Some are much larger than Whitaker.”
Dad became very quiet.
Then:
“Marcus will get bids.”
“He should.”
He hung up.
For the next week, I heard nothing.
That was fine.
Marcus contacted our account team requesting technical-export documentation.
We provided it.
Their data belonged to them.
Their configuration information belonged to them where the contract specified.
We did not make leaving difficult.
That mattered to me.
If Dad found a better system at a better price, he should take it.
Boundaries only work when they leave the other person genuinely free.
A week later, Marcus called me directly.
Unlike Dad, he started with hello.
“Maya, I’m trying to understand the commercial history here.”
“What do you need?”
“Did Whitaker really pay thirty-nine thousand a year for all this?”
“Yes.”
“For two warehouses?”
“Yes.”
“ERP integration?”
“Yes.”
“Support?”
“Yes.”
He exhaled.
“I have three bids in front of me.”
I said nothing.
“The cheapest is lower than your monthly fee.”
“That happens.”