Chapter 17 - EDWIN’S VERSION OF FATHERHOOD
Edwin agreed to one mediated conversation with me.
No Calloway.
Lawyers available.
Mediator present.
First thing:
“You enjoyed humiliating me.”
I knew what he meant.
Dog bowl.
“Yes.”
He looked surprised.
“I shouldn’t have thrown it.”
“You fractured my denture.”
One partial denture cracked.
I had paid.
“I know.”
Then:
“You think admitting makes it noble.”
“No.”
Good.
Then I asked:
“Why did you call him beggar?”
Edwin looked out the window.
“Because he kept asking.”
“For food.”
“For everything.”
“He is seven.”
“He watches you.”
“What does that mean?”
“He watches you ask the trust.”
There.
“You thought shaming him would change me.”
“Yes.”
Honest.
Then:
“Did you want to hurt him?”
Edwin hesitated.
“I wanted the tongs to scare him away from the table.”
“They hit him.”
“Yes.”
“Did you throw them at him?”
A long silence.
“Yes.”
That would matter in criminal case.
Then:
“Why?”
“Because I had told him three times.”
“Children disobey.”
“You never did.”
I laughed.
“You remember a fictional son.”
He almost smiled.
Then didn’t.
Then the trust.
“Why did you tell me it was nearly gone?”
“I told you at your pace it would not last forever.”
“That is not what you said.”
“You heard depletion because depletion scared you.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
There.
He used fear intentionally.
Then:
“Why penalties?”
“To make you think in future dollars.”
“Twenty percent?”
“Arbitrary.”
At least honest.
“Why call it official?”
“Because you ignored advice.”
“So you lied.”
“I exaggerated.”
“Same family.”
He looked angry.
Then:
“Why collect $6,300?”
“I thought you owed it.”
“To you?”
“To family.”
“Then why your account?”
“I managed family.”
There.
That sentence.
He did not distinguish himself from structure.
Then:
“Would you repay it?”
“If accounting says I should.”
“Accounting says.”
“My lawyer says disputed.”
Of course.
Then:
“Do you want contact with Calloway?”
Edwin’s face changed completely.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He’s my grandson.”
“Even if I never take another trust distribution?”
He stared.
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“It had everything to do with the dog bowl.”
He looked down.
Then:
“I was wrong.”
No excuse.
Finally.
Then:
“Would you say that to him without explaining me?”
“Yes.”
Maybe.
Then I asked:
“If Mom’s trust vanished tomorrow, would you still know how to be my father?”
He looked at me.
“I don’t know.”
That answer hurt more than anger.
Maybe money had become his language too.
Miriam gone.
Company sold.
Children grown.
Trust was the last structure where Edwin got to remain necessary.
If he lost adviser role, what was left?
A father.
A grandfather.
Relationships without authority.
He did not know how to do that yet.
May you like
That explained.
Did not excuse.
