Page 50 of Puck Daddies
“I’m paying for it.”
He steeples his fingers. “Here is what I will accept. You keep your…affairs private. You keep your name out of the press. You do not bring those fights to our door. You keep your focus where it belongs. Your metrics this month are not good.”
“Thank you for the feedback.”
“I am not finished. You should be more involvedappropriately. Fund projects. Endow something meaningful. Do something good with our money.”
“I build houses. I raise money for shelters. I work with the city on pocket parks. I am doing something good with our money.”
“That is…fine. But you must find larger impact projects. Legacy projects.”
“I will consider it. And I need to go. I have plans.”
My mother gives me the look that says,Don’t make a scene. I don’t. I put my napkin on the table. Caroline meets my eyes on purpose for the first time since we sat down.
She mouths,You okay?
I nod. “Thanks for brunch.” Not that I ate any of it. Too bland.
My father spoons compote onto his plate and doesn’t look up. “Distance, Oliver. That is my advice.”
“Your declined advice.”
He shakes his head. “As you wish.”
I kiss my mother’s cheek, squeeze Caroline’s shoulder, and walk out. I’m out the door in two minutes and in the truck in three. By the time I hit the gate, I have a text from Meg:You alive?She knows what family Sundays are like here.
Alive and on my way,I send and head back toward the city.
The apartment is busy when I get in. Hudson is at the stove, chopping onions and trying not to cry. Rocco is at the table with a legal pad. Meg is on the couch with a folder and her laptop open. She looks up when the door closes behind me.
“How bad?” she asks.
“Predictable,” I say, hanging my coat. “He told me to put distance between me and your…barista drama. He said my performance is down. He said our…relationship is unnatural.”
Meg’s eyebrows go up. “And you said…?”
“He doesn’t get a vote.”
Hudson snorts. “Amen.”
Rocco taps his pen. “We filing on Monday?”
“Dana sent a list,” Meg says, patting the folder. “We need to decide our order of operations. We need a plan if we can’t stop the eviction.”
“Okay.”
We move to the table. Hudson brings over a pan of something that smells good and turns off the burner. He sits and leans forward like he’s ready to run a drill. Rocco slides the legal pad to Meg and clicks his pen.
“First,” Meg says, flipping to the top sheet. “Dana is filing a demand to withdraw the cease and desist on the art and recipe names. That’s separate. She’s also preparing a response to the thirty-day notice. She thinks we can argue bad-faith interference and ask for a stay. We need to pull the lease, payment records, and any landlord communications. I have those.”
“Good,” I say. “What about the press?”
“She wants me to stay quiet. We can post facts about the fundraiser and donations. Nothing about the notice.”
“Done,” I say. “Next.”
“If we can’t stop the eviction, we need a move plan in place,” Meg says. Her face is steady when she says it. “I hate saying that. I need to say it.”
