Chapter 6 - The Weight of an Open Door
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The rain tapped against the tall windows of the Mercer-Bennett foundation office with a steady, rhythmic insistence.
Noah, now sixteen, stood by the glass, watching the water streak down toward the concrete street below.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, glanced at the screen, and silenced it without reading the message.
Grace, sitting at her desk reviewing a stack of intake forms, looked up over her reading glasses.
"Another one?" she asked, her voice calm.
"From Sebastian's office," Noah replied, tossing the phone onto the leather couch. "They want to schedule a lunch. They say it’s time to 'mend the fence' now that I'm old enough to understand corporate governance."
"Corporate governance," Grace repeated dryly, turning a page. "A teenager's favorite weekend activity."
"Right?" Noah huffed a small laugh, walking over to lean against her desk. "Dad didn't even mention it. But I know they're leaning on him again. The board hates that he spends half his week working with the center instead of sitting in the mahogany tower."
Grace lowered her glasses entirely, studying him.
"Your father can handle a few angry directors, Noah. He's had practice."
"I know. But it gets old. Every time things get quiet, someone with a Mercer last name pops up trying to monetize my childhood."
The office door clicked open, and I walked in, shaking the rain from my coat and hanging it on the brass rack by the door.
"If we're talking about monetization, I just turned down a television network wanting to do a retrospective on the trial," I said, unbuttoning my cuffs.
Noah grinned. "Did you tell them no?"
"I told them to lose my number," I smiled, walking over to check the digital tablet on Grace's desk. "Though the producer did sound desperate. Apparently, moral bankruptcy doesn't sell as well as it used to."
Grace closed her folder and stood up, stretching her back.
"Thank goodness for small miracles. Are we heading back to the house? The roads are going to flood if this keeps up."
"In a minute," I said, looking at Noah. "Noah, Sebastian called my office too. Did you reply?"
Noah shook his head, his jaw tightening slightly. "No. I don't have anything to say to them. To any of them. They only care because my name is on some legal registry as a major shareholder now that I'm sixteen."
I walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. He had grown taller than me last year, a fact he reminded me of whenever he could.
"You don't ever have to answer them, Noah. Not today, not next year, not ever," I said firmly. "Your shares, your life, your name—they belong to you. Not a board of directors."
Noah looked up, the tension leaving his face.
"Thanks, Dad."
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"Come on," I smiled, grabbing my keys. "Let's beat the traffic before the entire city turns into a swimming pool."
As we walked out into the cool evening air, I realized how far we had come from the nights when every shadow felt like a threat. The doors of our home were finally just doors, meant to keep out the weather, not the world.
