“I know, Mom. I’m grateful.”

“Gratitude is a lovely sentiment,” my father said, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin. “But success… success is a shared venture. We sacrificed so much to raise you. In many ways, your success is our success, too. It’s the return on our investment.”

He paused, letting the corporate metaphor hang in the air like cigar smoke.

“That is why,” he continued, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that brooked no argument, “we believe it is only fair that you formally recognize our contribution. We want you to transfer fifty percent of Northlane’s shares to us. It will ensure the family’s future, and allow us to help you manage the burden of leadership.”

He didn’t ask. He stated it. It was the invoice for my existence.

My mother smiled, a beatific expression that hid the steel trap beneath. “It’s for your own good, sweetie. You’re young. You need guidance.”