Chapter 4

I didn't sign.

Stanley didn't push, either. He just told me to take a few days and think it over.

The next night the company had a celebration, and it was past eleven when he got home.

His jacket was slung over one arm, his collar smelling of liquor, but he was in a good mood.

I was at the dining table reworking a floor plan. He poured himself a glass of water, then said, out of nowhere, "The equity grant got settled today too."

I looked up. "Whose?"

"Charlene's."

"How much?"

"Five percent."

He said it easily, almost pleased for her.

"She's been with the company eight years, took it from a dozen people to what it is now. Finance, funding, audits. Which of those didn't she carry? That five percent, she's earned it."

I watched him for a moment.

"And me?"

Stanley didn't follow.

"What?"

"Charlene gave the company eight years, and that's worth five percent. I gave you ten, quit my job, raised our kid, took care of your mother. How do you count those ten years?"

He frowned.

"How could you be the same as her?"

"How are we different?"

"She's creating value at the company." Stanley set the glass down. "You're just living your own life."

When Leah was a little over one, she spiked a fever of a hundred and four in the middle of the night, and I carried her to the ER alone.

Stanley was out of town seeing a client. At two in the morning he texted back: Thanks for handling it.

When his mother had her first stroke and was hospitalized, he stayed glued to the funding materials, and I slept seven nights straight in the visitor's chair.

The day she was discharged, he held me and said that once the company got past this stretch, he'd make sure I got a good long rest.

Later the company really did get past it.

I just never got the rest.

"So all the things I took off your plate don't count as creating value?"

"Pansy, I'm not saying you didn't give anything."

"Then what is it?"

He was visibly irritated. "Family is family, and the company is the company. Leah is your daughter, my mother is your mother-in-law. Were you supposed to ask me how many shares it was worth before you did any of it?"

And all at once I understood.

So when Charlene raised funding at his side, that was building a company together.

When I held a home together for ten years, that was just living my own life.

Stanley pushed the agreement back in front of me.

"Sign it, and the company stays the company. The savings still split down the middle, and I won't chase the one-point-oh-seven million. You're going back to work now, you'll need money. I can even give you two hundred thousand on top."

It even sounded generous.

I asked, "And if I don't sign?"

His tone cooled.

"Then we go by the settlement statement. You pay back the one-point-oh-seven million a little at a time. It's not like I'm forcing you."

I closed the agreement.

"Give me a month."

Stanley was plainly relieved.

"Fine. Take the time and think it through."

That night, once he was asleep, I photographed the settlement statement and the property agreement and sent them to a lawyer.

The next morning she called me back.

"Ms. Fox, don't sign either of these yet."

"Is something wrong?"

"On its own, the property agreement isn't unusual."

She paused.

"But put it together with that one-point-oh-seven-million household settlement, and the intent starts to look strange."

I said nothing.

The lawyer asked, "Has your husband brought up divorce recently?"

It took me a few seconds.

"No."

"Then don't agree to anything for now."

After we hung up, I opened that settlement statement again.

For the first time it hit me that what Stanley wanted me to sign for might never have been just a matter of rent.