Chapter 17: What He Gave Up

The envelope came to the house on Wednesday, hand-delivered, with my father's name typed on the front.

He opened it at the kitchen table and read the first page and then took off his glasses.

"Ainsley," he said. "Come here and tell me I'm not dreaming."

It was an assignment agreement, signed and notarized, on the letterhead I already knew.

Kerrigan Capital transferred its lien on the Delacourt house on Field Point Road to Gerald Lockridge, in his own name.

The stated payment was one dollar.

Clipped behind it was a second sheet, a full release of any claim the firm held against my father's guarantee.

"What does it mean?" Teddy asked, reading over my shoulder.

"It means that if the Delacourts can't pay, the house answers to Dad before it answers to anyone else."

"It means Lawrence doesn't get to take it," I said.

"I thought that was the whole point of him."

"So did I."

My father pushed the papers toward me with two fingers.

"I haven't signed anything," he said. "I won't, if you tell me not to."

"It's your guarantee, Dad."

"It's my daughter."

I stood there with the sheet in my hand and the blood loud in my ears.

I had told Lawrence at the gate I wanted nothing of his.

He had gone away and done this.

"I'm going to give it back," I said.

Kerrigan Capital still took up four floors of glass on the waterfront, and nobody in the lobby looked away from me this time.

A woman at the desk stood up when she saw my face.

"He's in the long room, Miss Lockridge," she said. "He asked me to say he'd see you whenever you came."

"How long has he been asking?"

"Since Sunday."

I walked the length of the corridor with the papers in my fist.

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