“You knew what it meant.”
“So did the attorney who prepared it.
So did the bank officer.
I explained that my pledge was temporary support, not a permanent guarantee.”
“You said it was a formality.”
“I said the paperwork was routine if the company performed well.”
He leaned back, looking wounded.
“You really kept track of everything.”
“I’m an accountant.”
“You kept track of us.”
“I kept track of my obligations.”
He lowered his voice.
“Were we an obligation?”
I watched him for a long moment.
“No,” I said.
“You were my son.
That was why I kept saying yes.”
His expression changed then—not dramatically, but enough for me to see the sentence reach him.
The waitress brought our coffee.
Logan wrapped both hands around his cup.
“Chelsea thinks you have money you never told us about.”
I said nothing.
“She said the notices could only happen if you had some kind of account or trust.”
