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“Oh, come on, did you move in on that or not?”
“None of your business.” I get rid of his arm as we enter the dining room. “And now shut it.”
Thomas makes a mocking zipper-over-mouth-throw-away-the-key gesture and goes to take his place in front of me while Mom and Dad sit at the opposite heads of the table.
Except for the white linen tablecloth, the table setting is not your typical Upper East Side style. No fancy china, or thin-stemmed crystal glasses. The plates are in multicolored ceramic, same as the glasses, and an arrangement of tropical flowers towers in the middle.
Mom says the bright colors remind her of home—Cuba.
I’ve barely sat down when their maid starts a table run, serving salads.
Brunch drifts amidst small talk, my mother expressing her usual concerns that I work too much, and the occasional gossip on boring people I don’t care about.
I wait until we’re back in the parlor and coffee is being served to broach the subject I’m really interested in discussing. Dad is in his armchair, Mom in the one opposite him, I’m in the middle one and the baby of the family has the couch all to himself as usual.
“Dad,” I say, stirring the sugar in my coffee cup absentmindedly. “Can I ask you a question?”
Dad raises his eyebrows. “Sure, son.”
“Did you offer to make Fidelity Credit Union your covert partner in the West if they financed my start-up?”
My father’s face remains stony as he says, “No, I didn’t.”
A political reply. He’s not lying, but he isn’t telling the whole truth, either.
I press him. “So is it just a coincidence that one week after I signed my deal with them, you dropped Wells Fargo for FCU?” After stalking Blake’s Instagram last night, I researched the timeline of Dad’s biggest operations in California and didn’t like what I found one bit. FCU brokered their first big transaction for Mercer Industries one week after my deal was signed, and then nothing ever again after my B-round funding went through.
Dad sighs.
He drops his coffee cup on the small table next to his armchair and, propping his elbows on his knees, leans forward to talk, looking me straight in the eyes. “I didn’t ask Fidelity Credit Union to finance your company.” Loaded pause. “They came to me one week after they’d signed with you and said that either I made them my preferred partners in the West or they’d drop you.” Before I can say anything, he raises his hands. “Your company was a solid investment, and you’ve proved that a thousand times over, but the VC world is small. You get your A-round funding and one week later the deal falls through? Word is going to get around. It would’ve made it impossible for you to get an investor onboard in the timeframe you needed to lock in your first building.” Dad spreads his arms. “I had no choice.”
The truth lands on my chest like a ton of bricks.
“And that’s why you dropped them as soon as I got my B funding.”
Dad nods gravely. “Don’t particularly like having a business partner strong-arm me into a deal.”
That he even accepted tells me how much he cares about me.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
“You wanted to prove a point and you did. I didn’t like that you refused to work in the family business, but I’ve always respected your choices, son. Want it or not, the Mercer name comes with strings attached, but that doesn’t mean I can’t smooth a few wrinkles for my sons along the way.”
I nod at him, trying to process all this new information.
“Where is this coming from, Gabriel?” my father says. “Why ask me after all this time? It happened what seven, eight years ago?”
“He met a woman.” Thomas hides a smirk behind his coffee cup. “She’s been calling him out on all his bullshit.”
“Oh.” My mom is finally prompted to join the conversation. “You met someone? Who is she?”
“No one,” I say, staring daggers at my brother.
Thomas flips a folded sheet of paper out of his suit pocket, holding it between his index and middle finger. “So if I called in several favors to get Blake’s private number, you wouldn’t be interested in me passing it along?” He wiggles the note.
I say nothing. Only try to incinerate him with my stare.
Thomas, not even a little intimidated, shrugs and pockets the sheet of paper. “Guess I’ll just ask her on a date myself, then.”
