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“I’ll be going now,” Eitan said. He grabbed Erez’s shoulder and patted him on the back, and whispered, “Be well, bro.”
“Coffee?” he asked, motioning the two men to sit. They declined, and he resumed his seat and waited for Yogev and Motti to settle. His insides were in turmoil. He’d found a major fuckup as part of a due diligence process. It was his duty to report it. But he’d made a promise to Dafna, a binding one. He’d keep his word to her. In a befuddled world, that much was clear.
“Is everything okay, Erez?” Yogev asked.
“Do you think I should invest in Kisharti?” Motti asked.
“You understand that my review wasn’t about the profitability of the investment,” he told Motti.
“Of course, of course, I understand,” Motti said. His eyes were assessing, inquisitive. “But time is of the essence. I have a large investor that leaves Israel right after the holidays, and he was the one that asked for this review. Do you think you could submit your signed report soon?”
This he wouldn’t do. “I’m not ready to sign my name on anything.”
“Erez is used to the clarity and transparency of real estate. He isn’t used to dealing with the finer intricacies of young startups,” Yogev’s tone was light, but his eyes pierced Erez. The blatant implication was that he wasn’t suited for high-tech, or for the Tractus consultancy. He sat frozen in his chair, his gut pitted.
“Can I tell my investor group that G&L has put the seal of approval on Kisharti?” Motti asked. But he didn’t look at Erez. He asked Yogev.
“Erez, can he say that?” Yogev’s tone was sharp. A tense silence followed. The two men looked at him, waiting for his answer. All he needed to do was sign his name on a report. His troubles would be over. Dafna’s troubles would be over.
“Erez, an answer today would be nice,” Yogev said.
“I can’t give you anything in writing. Nothing on a G&L paper with my signature.”
He wouldn’t break his promise to Dafna, but he wouldn’t sign his name on a false report.
“I see, thank you, anyway,” Motti spoke only to his future in-law. He stood up, shook Yogev’s hand, and left.
Yogev looked at Erez.
“Can you tell me what’s wrong?”
Anything he said would implicate Dafna and Kisharti.
“No. It’s just a hunch.”
“Either say what’s bothering you or commit. Hunches aren’t acceptable here. You’re making it very hard for me to help you.”
“I can’t. Not right now. Give me until after the Jewish holidays. I’ll give you my report then. That was our deal.”
“Motti needs this now,” Yogev said. Erez bowed his head.
Chapter 39
How You Look Is How You Behave
It was Yom Kippur’s Eve. Her sons were still hiking in Austria with Ilan and were due back only after Yom Kippur. She’d never been so long without them, not since they were born. She walked to her parents’ slowly, savoring the fine autumn evening, and the familiar, sharp Eucalyptus scent.
Aditi, the caregiver, was in her room. Her parents were watching TV, a dancing competition reality show which her father declared was total trash and yet had it recorded, and never missed an episode. Dafna and her mother moved to the kitchen. Her mother looked tired.
“Aditi is the best,” her mother said. “I feel relieved that she’s here. I don’t know why we resisted for so long.”
“It’s natural, not wanting to have a stranger at your own home.” Dafna poured boiling water over dried verbena, the smell filling the small kitchen.
“I’m thinking of taking students again,” Hannah said.
Dafna’s mother was a teacher of literature, and she used to give private lessons at home for years. She had made Dafna swear not to become a teacher. ‘It’s an ungrateful profession that pays like shit,’ she’d said, and her daughter listened.
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” Hannah’s eyes were sunken. Her father had been worried about the new meds that her mother started taking. ‘At least they don’t induce tantrums,’ Shlomo had said in quiet despair.
