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“What’s this?”
“As you know, the stipulations of your trust dictate that the money from your mother’s life insurance will be yours when you turn twenty-five.” He paused, and I made sure not to drop his gaze. This was another power play, I was sure of it. “But I never told you that it also includes a piece of property.”
In my chest, my heart thrummed with sudden nerves. “What property?”
“It was your grandparents’,” he said. “As you know, they died after your mother did and left her their home in Sisters, Oregon.”
Carefully, I reached forward to pull the folder into my lap. “And it’s mine?”
He made a quiet sound of assent. “It’s yours. All assets in her name are yours as of midnight tonight. And I hope you make a wise choice with it, Ivy.”
The papers inside the folder blurred because I focused too hard on what he wasn’t saying for any of the details to register. My head lifted, and I met his eyes—still just as hard as they had been when this meeting started.
“Please speak plainly because I’m not in the mood for games,” I told him.
“Careful,” he said silkily. “I’m not in the mood for childish petulance. I thought we’d outgrown that when your outburst forced me to lie for you at school.” He spread his arms out wide. “Suddenly, I find myself in a similar position, don’t I?”
My cheeks were hot, and I took in a deep breath. “What are you asking of me?”
He jerked his chin toward the folder I held in my hands. “I would’ve bulldozed and sold that land years ago just to be rid of it, but because it was left in her name, now it’s yours. For a small town, it’s valuable property, especially in the right hands.”
My mind raced. “And what do you want me to do with it?”
“That, Ivy, is your first project.” He sat back and folded his clasped hands over his flat stomach. “I think some space from Seattle would do you good. Give the Lowells and the board a chance to … forget. And you can prove to the rest of us that you still deserve a seat at the table.”
It was incredible, how simply he said it.
Like he hadn’t just plunged a knife straight into my fucking back.
I’d always imagined that righteous indignation would be hot. Flames licking up the sides of my skin, melting away clothes and jewelry and all manner of material things.
But this was so very, very cold.
My fingers prickled. My scalp tightened. And I fought a shiver from the way my bones were coated in ice, like they’d shatter at the slightest touch.
While my brain sliced through the devastating ramifications of what he’d just said, I had a vivid, painful memory of my dad sitting front and center at every single concert, every dance recital, every competition. How he sat across from a chess board and explained every move and every outcome with infinite patience and belief in my ability to learn quickly.
His support might not have been in hugs and laughter and gentle fatherly affection, but it was in his presence. In reading through my school papers and projects and helping me be a sharp thinker. In teaching me the ways to be strong and smart and capable. His support was that he was there. That I was always by his side.
“You’re sending me away,” I whispered. But the whisper didn’t last long. “You’re … you’re punishing me, threatening my place within your company because I won’t marry someone I don’t love?”
By the time I got to that last word—the crux of our entire issue—my voice filled every inch of his study. I’d never, not once, yelled at my dad.
His face was placid, but his eyes gleamed dangerously. “Call it what you like, Ivy. I’m beholden to my board, the same as you will be someday. If you can prove to us that we can still trust you to make wise decisions. Levelheaded business decisions. That you can set aside childish emotions and do what needs to be done,” he shouted. “I raised you better than this, and I will not have you risk what I’ve built. I plan to visit after a week or so to monitor your progress, but I expect you to fix it, Ivy.” Then he smacked a hand down on his desk. “And don’t come back until you do.”
A shocked exhale left my mouth, and there was no stopping it.
“I can’t come back until … what’s finished?” I asked, voice dangerously quiet.
He arched an eyebrow. “This decision rests entirely on your shoulders, Ivy. If you expect to run Lynch Holdings when I’m gone, you’ll have to weigh a million things every single day. Know in your gut what the right thing is to do, know what will grow your business until it’s something you’d willingly bleed for. That is what I need to know you’re ready to do,” he finished. “Inside the folder is all the pertinent research for you to take a few weeks to … get this settled. A couple of builders in the area. All with impeccable reputations. A real estate agent that can help you should you decide to sell. But no matter what you decide, I expect you to come back to me with visible proof of an investment well spent. A seed of your own business well-planted. Then show me what you can grow from it.”
And just like that, I was dismissed.
My heartbeat echoed sluggishly in my ears, my limbs slow to react, like the chord between my brain and my body had been severed.
Maybe if I was another girl, raised by another man, I would have let the tears fall. Might have asked my dad to give me a hug and tell me it would all be okay. That he loved me no matter what.
Behind my dad were two shelves among all the books. Framed academic awards that I’d earned, my diplomas from high school and college.
