Mason Pierce, the business attorney Leah recommended, met with me that afternoon. He had gray hair, a precise speaking style, and a habit of repeating the important parts of complicated documents in plain English. He read our operating agreement while I waited, then asked about the expenses and the Westbridge proposal. Priya joined by video call with copies of legitimate company records, including the unaltered transaction history and her prior requests for receipts.
“Your seventy-five percent stake gives you substantial authority,” Mason said, “but we need to follow the agreement. We can protect systems and put certain approvals under dual review while we investigate. We cannot simply confiscate his equity because your personal trust has been broken.”
“I understand.”
“What worries me more is the representation made to Westbridge. They appear to believe both owners are prepared to enter a negotiation for sale.”
“We weren't.”
“Then we should tell them, professionally and promptly, that no agreement has been authorized.”
He flipped to a page near the back of the proposal. “And we need to ask Ryan about this incentive provision.”
I leaned forward. The page contained a section outlining compensation for the executive who delivered the transaction. Under the proposed terms, Ryan would receive a consulting role and a substantial retention payment if the sale closed. There was no comparable arrangement for me. I read the numbers twice, trying to make sure I hadn't misunderstood.
“He never told me about that,” I said.
Mason nodded. “It's in a draft. It isn't proof of a completed deal. But it's certainly something we need explained.”
For the first time, the possibility emerged that Ryan's pressure on me hadn't been only about business growth. He had been constructing a future in which his own position became secure if I surrendered control of the company we'd built. Whether Natalie had played a part in that calculation remained uncertain. The idea made me feel physically sick, but Mason kept returning me to what the records actually showed. There were suspicious expenses, a proposed private benefit, and possible misrepresentations. We would investigate those. We would not turn guesses into facts just because they fit the betrayal.
After the meeting, I drove past the first storefront Oak & Stone had ever rented. It was now a bicycle repair shop, its windows filled with racing helmets and a fluorescent sign advertising tire replacements. Fifteen years earlier, Ryan and I had leased the space because it was the only one we could afford. We kept our tools in a battered metal cabinet, quoted jobs from a folding table, and took turns cleaning the restroom because we couldn't pay anyone else to do it. On our first major project, a hailstorm ruined materials we'd left beneath a tarp. We'd spent a Sunday moving everything into my garage, laughing through our exhaustion because there was nothing else to do.
Ryan had been good at things I wasn't. He could make a phone call sound like an opportunity instead of a demand. He remembered suppliers' children's names and could negotiate a price without making the other person feel squeezed. I was better on the job site, better at seeing what a