Chapter 3 - MY FATHER’S NAME
I did not call Ryan on Christmas.
He texted me thirteen times.
First angry.
Then irritated.
Then charming.
Then worried.
Are you really staying there over gifts?
Then:
I was stressed. Come home.
Then:
This is getting ridiculous.
Finally:
Emma, answer me.
I ignored all of them.
Dad noticed something was wrong before dinner.
He found me in his office looking at photographs of the Northstar statements on my phone.
“You okay?”
I looked up.
“Did you ever send Ryan money?”
His face changed.
That was my answer before he spoke.
“Why?”
“How much?”
“Emma.”
“Dad.”
He closed the office door.
Then sat across from me.
“About a year ago, Ryan approached me about an investment.”
My stomach tightened.
“What investment?”
“A short-term real-estate bridge.”
“Northstar?”
Dad looked surprised.
“You know about it?”
“How much?”
He hesitated.
“Two hundred thousand.”
I stared at him.
My father lived in the same modest house he bought in 1989.
Ryan had spent Christmas morning calling him broke.
And Dad had given him two hundred thousand dollars.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Ryan said you knew.”
The room became very quiet.
“What?”
“He said you both agreed it was better to keep investments separate from family conversations so you wouldn’t feel caught in the middle.”
I stood.
“I never knew.”
Dad’s expression hardened.
Not dramatically.
Dad almost never got loud.
His anger became quieter.
“What exactly did Ryan tell you about Northstar?”
“That it was an inactive company from a dead property deal.”
Dad leaned back.
“That’s not what he told me.”
According to Ryan, Northstar Capital was being used to acquire a small commercial building from a distressed seller.
The transaction supposedly required fast cash for ninety days.
Dad would receive six percent annualized interest plus principal repayment.
Ryan said the deal was low risk because the property itself supported the investment.
Dad had spent his entire career evaluating financial statements.
He asked questions.
Ryan brought documents.
Appraisals.
Projected rental income.
Corporate formation records.
Even an investment summary.
Dad eventually agreed.
The money came from a portion of his retirement account that had recently matured from a bond ladder.
“What happened after ninety days?”
Dad’s mouth tightened.
“Ryan said closing was delayed.”
“Then?”
“Title issue.”
“Then?”
“He rolled the investment.”
“Without paying you?”
“He paid interest twice.”
“From where?”
Dad stared at me.
“I assumed project funds.”
I closed my eyes.
“Did you ask for the principal back?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“October.”
“What did Ryan say?”
“He asked for another ninety days.”
I looked at the Christmas envelope again.
Money had been moving in and out of Northstar all year.
If it was truly tied to one property, the pattern made no sense.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“I think you need a lawyer.”
May you like
He nodded.
“I think you need one too.”
