The first call came during my morning review.
It was Camille.
I let it go to voicemail.
A few minutes later, Dad called.
I declined.
Then Mom sent another message.
Your sister is crying. You need to speak to her.
I stared at the words.
I wondered whether Camille was crying because she regretted what she had said.
Or because the wedding had become uncomfortable.
I couldn't know.
I also couldn't make myself responsible for guessing.
At eleven, Martin came into my office.
"Your father's company has contacted procurement."
I looked up.
"What did they ask?"
"They want to know whether the seven assignments can be reconsidered."
I shook my head.
"Did you explain the decision?"
"Yes. The assignments were declined before engineering commenced. We can review any future requests under our normal process."
"Good."
He placed another document on my desk.
"They also asked whether the scheduling designation was removed permanently."
"It was removed."
"I told them the same."
I nodded.
Martin hesitated.
"Your father mentioned that he knows you."
I looked at him.
"He does."
"Should we handle future communication through you?"
I thought about it.
"No. Let procurement handle the account. If he wants to discuss ownership, he can contact me separately."
Martin nodded.
That was the end of the conversation.
I spent the next two hours reviewing a prototype design.
It was a complicated assignment involving a production component that had failed repeated testing.
One of our engineers had identified a possible weakness.
I wanted to understand the issue before approving the next stage.
For a while, I forgot about the wedding.
Then my phone rang.
Derek.
I answered.
"Hello."
"Can we talk?"
"I'm working."
"This won't take long."
I leaned back.
"Go ahead."
He sounded uncomfortable.
"Camille says you're trying to punish Dad."
I closed the document on my screen.
"I'm not."
"Then why did you change the account?"
"Because the preferred arrangement was a personal favor. I decided to end it."
"But Dad's company depends on those projects."
"They depend on the work they've already contracted. We're completing it."
"What about the other seven?"
"They hadn't started."
Derek went quiet.
Then he asked, "You really own that company?"
"Yes."
"Since when?"
I almost gave him the same answer I'd given Dad.
But I wanted to see whether he would actually listen.
"Several years. I built it from the beginning."
"Forty-three employees?"
I looked at him.
"Who told you that?"
"Dad."
I didn't respond.
He continued.
"He said the company has contracts all over the country."
"Six states."
"That's a lot."
"It is."
There was another pause.
Then he said, "Why didn't you tell us?"
I looked at the office wall.
"I tried."
"When?"
"Over the years."
He didn't answer.
I remembered a family dinner when I had mentioned that Asterline was hiring additional engineers.
Dad had interrupted to discuss a problem at Mercer Architectural Systems.
Camille had begun talking about her engagement.
Mom had asked whether I was still working from home.
I had stopped explaining.
Derek had been there.
He had been checking his phone.
"You might not remember," I said.
He sighed.
"Maybe."
I waited.
Then he said, "Look, I don't want this to turn into a bigger family problem."
I felt something sink inside me.
That was always his concern.
Not what had happened.
Not why it happened.
Just how much trouble it might create.
"Then don't make it bigger," I said.
"What do you mean?"
"Stop asking me to pretend the wedding was normal."
He didn't answer.
I ended the call a moment later.
At lunchtime, I went downstairs and bought a salad.
I ate at my desk while reading project notes.
My phone remained quiet for almost an hour.
Then a message arrived from Camille.
I hope you're happy. Everyone is talking about you.
I read it.
I didn't respond.
Another message followed.
You embarrassed me in front of my husband's family.
I closed the thread.
The irony was difficult to ignore.
She had worried about appearances before the wedding.
She had worried about them when I questioned the missing seat.
And now she was worried because people were discussing why I had left.
Not once had she asked whether I had felt embarrassed.
I returned to work.
At two thirty, Martin informed me that Dad had requested a direct meeting.
I asked him to send the available business hours.
There was no reason to mix the discussion with the family dispute.
Dad selected the following afternoon.
I accepted.
That evening, I drove home.
The wedding present was still inside the cupboard.
I took it out and placed it on the dining table.
The ivory paper had a small crease near one corner.
I smoothed it with my hand.
Then I sat down.
My mother called.
This time, I answered.
"Rowan, finally."
"Hi, Mom."
"Your father is furious."
"I know."
"Why would you do something like this without speaking to him?"
I looked at the gift.
"Because the decision was mine."
"His company is affected."
"The existing projects are continuing."
"But those other projects were important."
"They were not started."
"You should have discussed it."
"Would Dad have discussed it with me if he decided I wasn't welcome at the wedding?"
She went quiet.
Then she said, "That is completely different."
"How?"
"It was Camille's day."
"I know."
"She had a lot to manage."
"I know that too."
"Then why couldn't you just help her?"
I closed my eyes.
"I did help her. I worked all afternoon."
"Rowan, don't be like this."
I looked down at the package.
"Mom, did you know I wasn't going to have a seat?"
A long silence followed.
Finally, she said, "We thought you would be comfortable helping in the kitchen."
I felt my throat tighten.
"You thought I would be comfortable eating in the kitchen while everyone else sat in the ballroom?"
"Nobody said you couldn't eat."
"Nobody gave me a place to sit either."
She sighed.
"You know how Camille gets when she's stressed."
I almost smiled.
That sentence had followed Camille throughout her life.
When she was upset, everyone had to understand.
When she was disappointed, everyone had to accommodate her.
When I was hurt, I was expected to become reasonable.
I was tired of being the reasonable one.
"I need to go, Mom."
"Your father wants you to fix this."
"I can't fix something that wasn't a mistake."
She didn't answer.
I ended the call.
The following afternoon, Dad arrived at Asterline.
I met him in the conference room.
He looked around before sitting down.
There were glass walls, technical drawings on the far screen, and several engineers moving through the corridor.
He had never been inside my office before.
He looked at the company logo on the wall.
Then at me.
"You really built all this?"
"Yes."
He pulled out a chair.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
I sat opposite him.
"I tried."
He shook his head.
"We'll discuss that another time."
I waited.
He placed a folder on the table.
"Let's talk about the account."
I looked at the folder.
Then at him.
"Of course."
He opened it.
And for the first time, I realized that my father had come to see me not as his daughter, but as the person who controlled a business decision he didn't like.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Father Sat Across From Me Asking for the Special Treatment I Had Given Him for Years Without Ever Telling Him
I Checked the Seating Chart Three Times Before I Realized My Family Had Made a Decision About Me Without Telling Me
Part 6 of 8
