“Fair.”
“This isn't an acquisition. They're not buying my company.”
“No.”
“They're trying to buy the end of the conversation.”
Jordan nodded.
Brandon pushed the letter back.
“Tell them no.”
“Do you want a counteroffer?”
“Yes.”
Jordan raised his eyebrows.
“What terms?”
“Independent review. Clear changes to the risk assessment policy. Transparent complaint process. A mechanism for other victims to seek remedies. Oversight that doesn't disappear after a press release.”
“And financial compensation?”
“Fair compensation can be negotiated without sacrificing those terms.”
Jordan smiled slightly.
“That's a complicated counteroffer.”
“Good.”
“Brandon?”
“Yes?”
“This could go on for years.”
Brandon looked toward the window.
“Then we'd better make sure we're doing it for the right reasons.”
On May 13, Brandon sat at the kitchen table surrounded by carefully organized documents.
The next morning, he would testify at a public regulatory hearing concerning First Heritage Bank.
Jordan had warned him that the proceeding would be stressful.
Bank attorneys would question his statements.
Commissioners would ask for precision.
The media would scrutinize his answers.
Every hesitation could be replayed.
Every phrase could become a headline.
Brandon was prepared for technical questions.
He was less prepared for the emotional weight.
His father's briefcase sat beside his chair.
Inside were copies of the acquisition documents, the original envelope containing the torn check, and a printed timeline.
Maya entered wearing pajamas.
“Daddy?”
He looked up.
“Hey, baby. You should be asleep.”
“I can't.”
“Bad dream?”
“No.”
She sat beside him.
“Are you scared about tomorrow?”
He considered lying.
Then decided against it.
“A little.”
Maya looked surprised.
“But you're brave.”
“Brave people still get scared.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely.”
She looked at the documents.
“Are all those papers about the bank?”
“Yes.”
“That's a lot of papers.”
“I know.”
She touched the old briefcase.
“Was this Grandpa's?”
“Yes.”
“Did he ever get treated bad?”
Brandon stared at her.
“Sometimes.”
“Because he was Black?”
“Sometimes, yes.”
Maya thought about that.
“Did he fight?”
“In his own way.”
“What did he do?”
“He worked hard. Took care of his family. Stood up for people when he could.”
She looked at the photograph on the wall.
“I wish I met him.”
“Me too.”
“Would he be proud of you?”
Brandon felt his throat tighten.
“I hope so.”
Maya shook her head.
“He would.”
“How do you know?”
“Because you're doing what he told you.”
Brandon smiled.
“What's that?”
“Not letting people make you small.”
He stared at her.
She had heard the phrase before, but he had not realized how deeply she remembered it.
He pulled her into his arms.
For a while, they sat quietly.
Then she asked, “Daddy?”
“Yes?”
“What if the bank wins?”
He looked at her.
“That could happen.”
“Then what?”
“Then we decide what to do next.”
“But what if you never win?”
Brandon considered the question.
Then answered carefully.
“Sometimes winning isn't only about what the judge or the commission decides.”
Maya frowned.
“Then what is it?”