Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Invitation
On Tuesday afternoon, forty-eight hours before Thanksgiving, Susan Coleman called Emily again.
This time, Emily took the call in the front passenger seat of a black Lincoln Navigator that Daniel had rented for the week. They were parked outside an elite private academy in Upper Arlington, waiting for the afternoon dismissal bell.
"Emily?"
Susan’s voice was different today. The brittle, apologetic hesitation was gone, replaced by a strange, frantic energy that made her words sound breathless.
"Yes, Mom."
"Emily, your father wants you to come for Thanksgiving."
Emily looked through the tinted windshield at the iron gates of the academy, where tuition was thirty thousand dollars a year—a check Daniel had written in full that morning for Noah’s kindergarten enrollment starting in January.
"Does he?" Emily asked coolly.
"Yes! He... he specifically told me to call you. Something very important has come up, Emily. Greg’s company is involved in a massive investment deal with a private equity group from Chicago. The Chairman of the fund is coming to the house on Thursday afternoon to discuss a partnership with your father."
Emily’s lips curved into a faint, dangerous smile. "Is that so?"
"Yes! And your father says it’s vital that the family presents a united front. He says investors like to see traditional family values. Stability. Generational roots." Susan took a quick, sharp breath. "He said... he said he’s willing to forget what happened in October. He said you can bring Noah, and... and he even said Daniel could come."
Emily’s voice was quiet, deadly quiet. "Daniel can come?"
"Yes! As long as he wears a proper suit, of course. No work clothes. Your father said Daniel could sit at the end of the table near Greg, and perhaps Greg could introduce him to some of the tier-two suppliers if the meeting goes well. It’s an olive branch, Emily! Your father is extending an olive branch!"
Emily looked down at her hands.
Her nails were clean, unpolished, her skin smooth against the simple gold band Daniel had placed on her finger six years ago in a small Presbyterian chapel in Lancaster.
An olive branch.
Richard Coleman did not extend olive branches; he extended leashes. He had found a situation where his daughter and her husband could serve as decorative props for his own commercial salvation, and he had graciously decided to pardon them for his own cruelty.
"What time, Mom?" Emily asked.
Susan let out a long, audible sigh of relief on the other end of the line. "Oh, thank God. Four o'clock, dear. The guests are arriving at four-fifteen. Please be on time. And Emily... make sure Daniel gets his hair cut. We want everyone looking their absolute best."
"Don't worry, Mom," Emily said softly. "Daniel will look exactly like what he is."
She hung up.
Daniel shifted the Navigator into drive, his large, capable hands resting easily on the leather-wrapped steering wheel. He glanced over at her, his dark eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Four o'clock?" he asked.
"Four o'clock," Emily confirmed. "He wants you to wear a suit, Dan. And he wants Greg to introduce you to some tier-two suppliers so you can get some 'real work.'"
Daniel chuckled. It was a low, deep sound that filled the warm cabin of the SUV.
"I’ll wear the suit," Daniel said.
"The Savile Row one?"
"The one we picked up in New York last month," Daniel said. "The navy wool. Marcus Vance told me it’s what people wear when they buy banks."
Noah hopped into the back seat a minute later, his school backpack slung over one shoulder, chattering about a rocket ship he had drawn in art class.
Daniel turned around in his seat, reached back, and tapped his son’s nose.
"Hey, buddy."
"Hey, Dad. Look at my rocket! It has three stages and a ceramic heat shield so it doesn't burn up when it comes back home!"
Daniel took the drawing, studying the crude crayon lines with the serious, focused intensity of a chief engineer reviewing a blueprint.
"That’s a fine heat shield, Noah," Daniel said softly. "The best I’ve ever seen. You know what we’re going to do on Thursday?"
"Go to Grandfather’s house?"
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"That’s right," Daniel said, looking into the rearview mirror, catching Emily’s eyes. "We’re going to Grandfather’s house. And we’re going to show him how a real heat shield works."
***
