The first meeting between the lawyers took place the following week.
I did not attend.
Richard had explained that we would accomplish more if he first obtained the documents rather than arguing across a table.
Daniel hired a local attorney named Claire Porter.
She worked with small business owners who were trying to reorganize their finances without destroying their families.
I had heard of her through a contractor I trusted.
That was reassuring.
It did not mean she would agree with us.
Her job was to represent Daniel.
Richard emailed me a list of records she had promised to help gather.
Bank statements.
Business tax returns.
An updated balance sheet.
The first mortgage payment history.
Documents relating to Harbor Crest.
The list looked familiar.
When I ran a company, these were the things my accountant asked for before we made major decisions.
At home, Eleanor was slowly returning to ordinary routines.
She attended her book club.
She went for a walk with Margaret.
She resumed knitting a blanket for a local shelter.
But sometimes I found her staring at her phone.
Daniel had not called her since his visit.
"Would you like me to ask him to call?" I said one evening.
"No."
She set down the phone.
"I want him to call because he has something to say."
On Friday, Claire's office supplied a preliminary summary of Daniel's finances, with his authorization.
The numbers were difficult to read.
He had several clients, but revenue was irregular.
He had hired contractors before collecting on outstanding invoices.
One large project had been delayed over a dispute about the work.
A second client had shut down operations and stopped paying.
Meanwhile, Daniel and Vanessa continued spending at a level that assumed the best months would return immediately.
Richard called me after reviewing the preliminary statement.
"Their problem isn't just your note," he said.
"I suspected that."
"They have meaningful debts and poor cash flow. We shouldn't assume every dollar recorded as a business expense went where it was intended. But they need a comprehensive review."
"Could the business survive?"
"That's for their accountant to determine."
Two days later Daniel called and asked if I would meet him at a café near his office.
I agreed, on one condition.
"We don't negotiate the loan without our lawyers," I said.
"Fine. I just want to talk."
The café had narrow tables and the sharp smell of espresso.
Daniel arrived ten minutes late.
He looked as though he had slept in his clothes.
He ordered coffee and immediately checked his phone.
"Claire says we need an accountant."
"She's right."
"I thought I'd already done most of that work."
"Entering numbers into a spreadsheet isn't the same as understanding them."
He made a face.
"You could say that without sounding pleased."
"I'm not pleased."
He pushed his cup aside.
"The consultant we hired told us expansion would pay for itself."
"Who was the consultant?"
Daniel mentioned a man named Victor Ames.
Victor had advised him to establish a new company for a proposed regional contract.
He promised introductions and financing.
He was paid a substantial fee.
The promised work never arrived.
"Did you have a written agreement?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Then Claire should review it."
Daniel nodded.
He told me that some of the Harbor Crest proceeds had gone to a leased office, marketing, and contractors.
Some had repaid short-term credit balances.
Some had covered household expenses after business income slowed.
He said Vanessa managed many of the household purchases.
I asked whether he reviewed the statements.
"Not every month."
"They have your name on them."
He looked at me with an expression I remembered from when he was a teenager and had dented my truck.
"I know."
I wanted to lecture him.
Instead I waited.
He opened a notebook.
Inside was a list of bills he had written in blue ink.
There was the first mortgage.
Utilities.
Insurance.
Property taxes.
Car leases.
Credit cards.
Our overdue payments.
He had circled the total three times.
"I don't know how to tell Vanessa," he said.
"About what?"
"How bad it is."
"Doesn't she already know?"
"She knows there's pressure. She thinks the next contract solves it."
"And do you believe that?"
He shook his head.
I sat back.
"Then tell her. Numbers do not improve because you hide them from your spouse."
He rubbed the edge of the notebook.
"She will be furious."
"She may be."
"You don't know what she's like when she's furious."
I looked at him carefully.
"If you're afraid for your safety, say so."
He shook his head quickly.
"No. She gets angry, then shuts me out. That's what I mean."
"You still need to be honest with her."
On the way out, Daniel touched my arm.
"Are you really going to make us sell?"
"The choice is not mine alone. You have creditors and financial obligations. You and Vanessa need advice about your options."
"Could you extend the loan?"
"I will consider a proposal backed by real numbers."
He nodded.
"I thought you'd say no to everything."
"I will say no to pretending."
When I returned home, Eleanor was preparing supper.
I told her Daniel had finally made a list of the bills.
"That's good," she said.
"It's a beginning."
"Did he ask about me?"
I stopped.
He hadn't.
Eleanor understood before I answered.
She turned back to the stove.
"Well," she said, "at least he's learning to look at the numbers."
I knew better than to call it progress on every front.
A week later, Claire forwarded a letter from an accountant Daniel had engaged.
The accountant was performing a financial review and had advised the couple to stop making nonessential purchases while the records were reconciled.
There was no magic solution in the letter.
There were only dates, documents, and work to be done.
For once, I found that reassuring.
It meant someone besides his parents was telling Daniel the truth.
At the café, Daniel had shown me a photograph of his first office.
It was a small rented room above a print shop.
There was a desk, two folding chairs, and a whiteboard covered with prospective clients' names.
He said he had felt embarrassed working there.
I told him that my company's first office had been the back seat of a pickup truck.
I kept invoices in a metal box behind the passenger seat.
In winter, the paper curled from damp air.
My first accountant insisted I rent a proper file cabinet before I bought anything else.
Daniel laughed at that.
Then he asked why I hadn't rented a beautiful office right away.
"Because it wouldn't have brought me customers," I said.
He looked at the photograph of his little room.
"I got more work there than I did after we moved."
"Then remember why."
He stared at the screen.
He said the expensive office had impressed visitors but cost so much that he needed new contracts simply to justify it.
I knew that trap.
When I ran my company, we once considered purchasing a bigger crane to pursue larger jobs.
My foreman talked me out of it until we had signed commitments.
I thanked him later.
Daniel said nobody in his circle ever advised him to buy less.
"You can choose to listen to other people," I replied.
He shut off his phone and finished his coffee.
It was the first time I saw him looking seriously at his own definition of success.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: Vanessa came to our kitchen without the clothes and confidence she had worn at the party
The embroidered gift my wife carried into our son’s mansion became a public humiliation
Part 5 of 16
