When Daniel died, Frank told me the business was buried in debt. He said Daniel had made some bad decisions near the end, that cash flow was tight, and that the insurance policies I thought existed had either lapsed or been redirected to cover liabilities I did not understand. He used words like probate, exposure, leverage, liquidation. He said I should not worry my pretty little head about it while I was grieving.
I hated him for saying that.
I hated myself for being too lost to fight harder.
Rosie was only three back then. She still asked when Daddy was coming home. She still slept with one of Daniel’s T-shirts wrapped around her little body like it could keep him close. I had been working part-time at a dental office before he died, but Daniel and I had planned for me to stay home more once his share of the family business expanded. Instead, after he was gone, I found myself unable to cover rent on our apartment in Sandy Springs. Frank offered me a solution that sounded like mercy.
“Move into the guest wing for a while,” he said. “Let the family protect its own.”
