Doug stared at me.
I could tell he wasn't used to being questioned in front of his employees.
Especially not by the mother of someone he had just fired.
"Excuse me?"
I repeated myself.
"I asked who originally financed this company."
A few employees exchanged looks.
Jeremy stood beside the stage.
He looked confused.
"Mom, what are you doing?"
I glanced at him.
"Just give me a moment."
Doug gave a short laugh.
"That's a strange question to ask at a Christmas party."
"Perhaps."
"This company has been built through years of hard work."
"I never said otherwise."
"Then I don't understand why you're asking."
I looked at the company logo behind him.
"I think you understand perfectly well."
His smile faded.
He adjusted his jacket.
"Look, I don't know what you think you know, but this is a private business matter."
"Then perhaps we should discuss it privately."
"There's nothing to discuss."
I nodded slowly.
That answer told me more than he realized.
I had expected him to be surprised.
I had expected him to ask why I was interested.
I had not expected him to become defensive so quickly.
Jeremy stepped closer.
"Mom, please."
I knew he wanted to leave.
He had just lost his job.
He didn't want another confrontation.
But I also knew that if we walked out without asking the right questions, Doug would continue believing that nobody could challenge him.
I wasn't going to let that happen.
I turned back toward Doug.
"Do you know the name of the person who helped your father establish this business?"
Doug's face changed.
"My father?"
"Yes."
He looked at me more carefully.
"What does my father have to do with this?"
I almost smiled.
Everything, I thought.
But I didn't say it yet.
Instead, I reached into my handbag.
I had brought a small leather folder with me.
It was old.
The corners were worn, and the clasp had become loose over the years.
I had carried it for a reason.
Not because I expected to use it that evening.
Because I had learned long ago that important things should never be left to someone else's memory.
Doug watched me remove it.
"What's that?"
"Something I believe you should read."
I placed it on the nearby table.
He didn't touch it.
"What's inside?"
"An agreement."
"Between whom?"
"Your father and me."
The room became noticeably quieter.
Doug looked at the folder.
Then at me.
I could see that he was trying to understand why a woman he had never met was claiming to have an agreement with his father.
"My father passed away years ago."
"I know."
"Then whatever arrangement you're talking about is probably irrelevant."
I shook my head.
"That depends on whether the agreement was ever fulfilled."
He stared at me.
"What agreement?"
I opened the folder.
Inside were several carefully preserved pages.
The paper had yellowed slightly.
The signatures were still clear.
I placed the first document on the table and turned it toward him.
"Read the ownership section."
Doug hesitated.
Then he stepped closer.
He picked up the document.
At first, he looked irritated.
Then his eyes moved down the page.
He stopped.
His fingers tightened around the paper.
I watched him read the same paragraph again.
And then a third time.
He lifted his eyes.
"Where did you get this?"
"I was there when it was signed."
"That can't be right."
"It is."
He looked down again.
The employees were watching.
Some had moved closer.
Others remained near their tables, holding their drinks without taking a sip.
Jeremy approached me.
"Mom, what is this?"
I looked at him.
"Something I should have explained a long time ago."
His eyebrows drew together.
I understood his confusion.
For most of his life, I had been an ordinary mother in his eyes.
I had worked.
I had paid bills.
I had saved what I could.
I had never told him every detail about the years before he was born.
Some things had been painful.
Other things had simply never seemed important.
But the paper in Doug's hands belonged to a time when his father was still trying to build something from nothing.
And I had been there.
Doug slowly lowered the document.
His face had lost some of its color.
"What exactly are you claiming?"
I met his eyes.
"I'm not claiming anything that isn't written there."
He looked at the agreement again.
Then he reached the ownership section.
His lips moved as he read.
I waited.
I wasn't going to explain something that the document already explained.
Finally, he spoke.
"Thirty percent?"
His voice was so quiet that the people nearest him leaned forward.
I folded my arms.
"That's what it says."
He looked at me as if he had never seen me before.
"Thirty percent of the company?"
"Yes."
He glanced toward the employees.
Then back at the paper.
I could see the question forming in his mind.
How could a woman standing in a simple dress at his Christmas party own a portion of the business he controlled?
I didn't answer that question yet.
I wanted him to understand something first.
The company hadn't appeared out of nowhere.
Someone had taken a risk.
Someone had put money into an idea when there was no guarantee it would survive.
And that person had been me.
Doug looked at the document again.
His hands were shaking.
Click here to continue reading: PART 3: The Old Agreement Contained a Promise That Had Survived Decades, Even Though Nobody in That Room Knew It Existed
My Son Thought Losing His Job Was the Worst Thing That Could Happen That Night, Until I Asked One Question
Part 2 of 10
