Harvest of Ambition: A CEO's Odyssey novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Five Years of Wires

Mason tells the breakfast table he wired every dollar for five years, and his wife says Jarrett did.

I walked into the farmhouse kitchen at seven the next morning without knocking.

It was my house too, and I was done asking.

Four people sat at the table my mother used to set.

My father was at the head with his coffee.

Dale sat across from him, shoveling eggs.

Delaney had her back to me at the stove, in a robe I had never seen.

And Jarrett Pelletier sat in my chair, the one with the cracked left arm, buttering toast.

"Morning, Mason," he said pleasantly. "Grab a plate."

"You slept here," I said.

"Bert put me in the guest room." He gestured with the knife. "The roads were bad."

The roads were dry.

My father kept his eyes on his cup.

"Mason, sit down," he said. "Delaney made enough."

I stayed standing.

"Dad, how is the farm loan?"

"What?"

"The loan on the north field and the combine. How much is left?"

My father blinked at me.

"Paid. Jarrett's fund covered the last of it in the spring."

"Jarrett's fund."

"Brightwater's charity fund." Bert nodded toward Jarrett, and his voice went soft. "Five years of it, son. Three thousand five hundred a month, like clockwork. Without that, we'd have lost the place."

Five years of it.

Three thousand five hundred a month.

I looked at the number.

"Dad, I sent that."

The kitchen went still.

Dale put down his fork.

"I sent every dollar of it," I said. "Sixty wires, the first of the month, from my account to Delaney's, for you."

Delaney turned from the stove.

She didn't look surprised.

She looked patient.

"Mason," she said. "Please."

"Ask her. Ask her where the money came from."

"I know exactly where it came from." She set her spatula down gently. "Bert, I didn't want to say this at the table."

"Say what?" my father asked.

"Jarrett's fund routes the gifts through employees' accounts. It's a tax thing. The company used Mason as the sender because he works there."

Jarrett nodded gravely.

"Standard practice," he said. "I can show the paperwork."

I stared at him.

"My name was on the wire," I said. "My checking account."

"Because you're a payroll clerk, Mason, or whatever you are." Dale laughed with his mouth full. "You make twelve dollars an hour stacking boxes. You don't send three thousand five hundred dollars a month to anybody."

"I make a lot more than twelve dollars."

"Sure you do."

"Dad, look at my phone." I held it out. "It's all here. Every transfer. The dates, the amounts, the account."

My father didn't take the phone.

He looked at Delaney.

He looked at Jarrett.

Then he looked at me, and I saw him decide.

"Mason," he said, almost gentle. "I know you want to help. I know it hurts that you couldn't."

"I did help."

"You're embarrassing yourself in front of the man who saved this farm."

I felt the floor shift under me.

Delaney came around the table and laid her hand on Bert's shoulder.

"He doesn't mean it, Bert. He's been under a lot of stress. Five years alone in the city will do that."

"Five years," I said, and my voice finally came out hard. "You told them I sent nothing."

"I told them the truth," she said sweetly. "You sent me a few hundred a month for groceries."

"I sent three thousand five hundred."

"Prove it."

She smiled.

It was the same smile she had worn on the square.

Jarrett leaned back in my chair with his hands behind his head.

"Don't worry, Mason," he said. "We all understand. Nobody here holds it against you."

Dale snorted into his coffee.

I looked at my father one more time.

He was staring at his plate.

"Apologize to Jarrett," he said quietly. "Then we'll talk."

I almost laughed.

I almost took out my phone and called the board chair right there, with the speaker on.

But Delaney was watching me too closely, waiting for it.

If I said CEO now, to this table, they would call it the lie of a desperate man, and Jarrett would have all day to find a way around it.

So I put the phone away.

"No," I said. "I won't apologize."

I walked out of the kitchen with their silence on my back.

I was halfway across the yard when the phone buzzed in my pocket.

It was Joanna.

"Mason." She was out of breath. "Where are you?"

"The farm."

"Get to the loading dock. Now."

"What's happening?"

"Jarrett just texted every grower in the county." Her voice shook with anger. "He wants them lined up at the dock by nine, and he's collecting envelopes."

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