Ryan swore softly. “Priya should mind her own business.”
“She is minding our business. Literally.”
“Those were business development expenses.”
“Then explain what clients you were developing while staying with my wife.”
“Can we not do this over the phone?”
“We won't. My attorney will contact you. Until we've reviewed the operating agreement, don't approve any new discretionary expenditures, don't alter company records, and don't represent that I have accepted the Westbridge offer. I'll put the request in writing.”
His tone changed. “You're letting your marriage destroy the company.”
“No, Ryan. I'm trying to make sure you haven't already done that.”
I ended the call before he could answer. My hand shook as I set the phone down. I had imagined this confrontation dozens of times during the night. In some versions I shouted at him; in others I demanded he tell me every detail of the affair. The real conversation lasted less than five minutes. It left me exhausted, and I still had to go to work.
When I arrived, Luis was standing in the parking lot beside his truck. He took one look at me and asked if I wanted him to clear the crew out of the main office. I said there was no need. I would not turn our employees into spectators to a private catastrophe. We met with Priya behind a closed door and explained that a review of expenses and management authority was underway. I told her to continue normal payroll and vendor payments, to preserve records, and to direct any unusual request to counsel. Ryan owned part of the company, I said, so nothing about his interest should be changed without legal advice. Priya wrote everything down.
“What do we tell the crew?” Luis asked.
“That the company has a management dispute, that their jobs and projects remain our priority, and that they'll be told anything they actually need to know.”
Luis leaned against the filing cabinet. “All right. But the guys can tell you're carrying something. Don't ask them to pretend otherwise.”
“I won't.”
He hesitated. “For what it's worth, I've been here nine years. You and Ryan don't run this place the same way. You walk a job with the customers and see what they live with. He sees margins. Margins matter, sure. But people stay because you remember there's a house around the work.”
I didn't know what to say. I thanked him and went into my office. A picture from our first company Christmas party sat on the shelf above the desk. There were six of us then, standing beneath a crooked strand of lights, grinning like children because we'd made it through another year. Ryan stood with his arm around my shoulders. I turned the photograph facedown, then immediately turned it upright again. I wasn't ready to erase an entire friendship just because I had learned where it ended.