Chapter 4 - THE PRICE OF A SIGNATURE
Mark arrived in Toronto without warning on a Friday afternoon.
I was sitting in a conference room when my receptionist called.
“There’s a Mark Vance here to see you.”
I looked at my watch.
“Did he say why?”
“No. He said he’s your ex-husband.”
My mother, seated across from me, raised an eyebrow.
“Send him up.”
“Elena,” Margaret said.
“He has a legal right to visit the girls.”
“Does he have a legal right to storm into your office?”
“No.”
“Then establish which visit this is.”
Mark appeared three minutes later.
He looked different.
Not destroyed.
Not defeated.
Just less polished.
His tie was loosened. There were shadows beneath his eyes.
“Elena.”
“Mark.”
He looked at my mother.
“Margaret.”
“Mark.”
“I need to talk to Elena alone.”
My mother stood.
“Then ask politely.”
He exhaled.
“Could I please talk to Elena alone?”
Margaret looked at me.
I nodded.
She left.
Mark remained standing.
“You froze my credit.”
“No.”
“Sterling withdrew support.”
“The agreement expired.”
“The bank froze the line because you refused renewal.”
“The bank froze the expansion portion because they’re reviewing your financials.”
“You knew they would.”
“I knew they might.”
He slapped a folder onto the table.
“Do you know what this is?”
“No.”
“A twelve-million-dollar municipal bid.”
I opened the folder.
“You’re bidding without confirmed financing?”
“I had financing.”
“You had provisional capacity based partly on Sterling support.”
“I built the relationships.”
“You keep repeating that like relationships are collateral.”
“Stop talking to me like I’m stupid.”
“Then stop making decisions that require me to explain the obvious.”
His jaw tightened.
There was a time when that expression made me back down.
Now it merely told me he had no better argument.
“I need ninety days.”
“For what?”
“Sterling renews the support for ninety days. I close this project. Cash position stabilizes. Then you walk away.”
“No.”
“Elena.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I reviewed the vendor issue.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You’re obsessed with Chloe.”
“This isn’t about your affair.”
“She wasn’t an affair.”
I stared at him.
He looked away first.
“Not at first.”
“Mark.”
“What?”
“You were sleeping with her while we were married.”
“Our marriage was over.”
“You forgot to tell me.”
“You had checked out too.”
“I filed for divorce after I found your hotel receipts.”
“You had been cold for months.”
“I was sleeping four hours a night while raising two children and doing consulting work after bedtime.”
“You always make yourself the victim.”
I closed the folder.
“We are not relitigating our marriage.”
“Fine.”
“Then tell me why you’re here.”
“I need ninety days.”
“No.”
“What would make you say yes?”
“An independent forensic review.”
He stared.
“You want to humiliate Chloe.”
“I want to know why three vendors she introduced are charging your company substantially above regional rates.”
“She negotiated guaranteed availability.”
“Then she can document it.”
“You don’t trust her.”
“No.”
“Because she’s with me.”
“Because she told the bank Blue Crest Materials had been operating for six years.”
“So?”
“It was incorporated eleven months ago.”
Mark’s face shifted.
“What?”
I slid a printout across the table.
“Public record.”
He picked it up.
“That doesn’t prove anything.”
“No.”
“Then stop acting like it does.”
“It proves someone gave inaccurate information.”
“Maybe she made a mistake.”
“Maybe.”
He looked at the page again.
I watched doubt appear.
Small.
Unwelcome.
But real.
“Who owns it?” he asked.
“Beneficial ownership isn’t disclosed in the public filing.”
“So you don’t know.”
“No.”
He pushed the paper back.
“Then this is nothing.”
“Maybe.”
“Stop saying maybe.”
“I’m not going to accuse somebody without evidence.”
“You already are.”
“No. You’re hearing an accusation because part of you is worried.”
His expression hardened.
“You always did this.”
“Did what?”
“Talk like you understand me better than I understand myself.”
“For twelve years, I often had to.”
He stood.
“I’m done.”
“Then why did you fly here?”
He looked toward the door.
The answer was obvious.
He needed something.
He hated needing it from me.
“Can I see the girls?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After school.”
“I can pick them up.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you arrived without notifying me.”
“I’m their father.”
“And their primary residence is with me.”
“You’re going to use that now?”
“I’m going to follow the agreement we both signed.”
“Fine. Where?”
“My mother’s house at five.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Of course.”
“What does that mean?”
“Everything is Sterling now.”
“No, Mark. Everything that was Sterling before is simply no longer being disguised as Vance for your comfort.”
His face flushed.
“I never needed your name.”
“Then why are you angry that I’m using it?”
At five, he arrived at my mother’s home carrying two enormous shopping bags.
Maya ran into the foyer.
“Daddy!”
Mark dropped the bags and lifted her.
“Bug.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck.
For a moment, his face softened completely.
Sophia stayed near the stairs.
“Hi.”
“Hey, Soph.”
He set Maya down.
“I brought you both something.”
Sophia looked at the bags.
“You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Maya was already pulling tissue paper aside.
“A unicorn!”
Mark smiled.
“I remembered.”
Sophia opened her bag slowly.
Inside was the newest tablet.
She stared at it.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“I already have one.”
“This one’s better.”
“My old one works.”
“Well, now you have a new one.”
She looked at him.
“Why?”
His smile faded.
“Because I wanted to get you something.”
“You could’ve come to the airport.”
The room went silent.
Mark swallowed.
“Sophia.”
“I’m just saying.”
“I made a mistake.”
“You keep saying that.”
“I know.”
She put the tablet back in the bag.
“I don’t want it.”
Maya froze.
Mark’s face tightened.
“Don’t be rude.”
I stepped forward.
“Mark.”
“No, Elena. I flew here. I brought gifts. She can at least say thank you.”
Sophia’s cheeks reddened.
“Thank you.”
“Soph—”
“But I don’t want it.”
He stared at her.
“Why are you acting like this?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because you keep buying things instead of showing up.”
His mouth opened.
Nothing came.
Maya hugged the stuffed unicorn against her chest.
“Daddy, are you mad?”
Mark closed his eyes.
“No.”
He crouched.
“No, bug.”
Sophia turned toward the stairs.
“I’m going to my room.”
“Sophia.”
She stopped.
Mark’s voice softened.
“Please.”
She looked back.
“What?”
“I came to see you.”
“Okay.”
“Can we spend time together?”
She hesitated.
Then she sat on the bottom stair.
“What do you want to do?”
Mark looked almost startled by the question.
“Anything.”
“Like what?”
He had no answer.
I saw the moment he realized he knew how to schedule contractors, manage crews, negotiate loans and buy expensive gifts.
But he had forgotten how to sit with his daughter.
Maya rescued him.
“We can make pancakes!”
“At five thirty?”
“Yes.”
Mark smiled weakly.
“Sure.”
Margaret called from the kitchen.
“I have flour.”
For the next hour, Mark made pancakes with his daughters.
He burned the first three.
Maya laughed so hard she hiccupped.
Sophia corrected his measurements.
“You used a tablespoon.”
“It says T.”
“That’s teaspoon.”
“That is an unnecessarily confusing system.”
“You own a construction company.”
“That doesn’t mean I bake.”
She smiled despite herself.
It was tiny.
But Mark saw it.
So did I.
After dinner, he helped Maya wash syrup off her hands.
Sophia stood beside me.
“He’s being normal.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he’s here.”
“Will he stay normal?”
“I don’t know.”
She hated that answer.
But she nodded.
At eight, Mark checked his phone.
His expression changed.
“Everything okay?” I asked.
“Chloe.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing.”
He typed a response.
Then looked at the girls.
“I need to head back to the hotel.”
Sophia’s smile disappeared.
“You’re leaving?”
“It’s late.”
“You said you were here all weekend.”
“I am.”
“Then why do you have to go?”
“Chloe isn’t feeling well.”
Maya whispered, “Is the baby okay?”
“Yes.”
Sophia folded her arms.
“Does she need you?”
Mark hesitated.
“Yes.”
“Then go.”
“Soph.”
“Go.”
“It isn’t like that.”
“What isn’t?”
“This isn’t me choosing.”
Sophia laughed once.
It sounded far too old for nine.
“You always say that after you choose.”
Mark went still.
I stepped between them emotionally, not physically.
“That’s enough for tonight.”
Sophia turned away.
Mark looked at me.
“What am I supposed to do?”
I answered quietly.
“Stop asking me to translate your decisions into something your daughters can survive.”
He left twenty minutes later.
The following morning he did not arrive at the agreed ten o’clock.
At 10:40, he texted.
Flight issue. Need to return to Chicago.
Sophia read the message over my shoulder.
“Was there really a flight issue?”
“I don’t know.”
At noon, Patricia posted a photo publicly.
Mark and Chloe were sitting inside Teresa’s kitchen.
Blue balloons surrounded them.
The caption read:
Family first. Counting the days until our little prince arrives.
Sophia saw it before I could block the account.
She looked at the photo.
Then at me.
“He lied.”
I had no safe explanation left.
“Yes.”
May you like
Something inside my daughter changed again.
This time, Mark would not be able to fix it with pancakes.
