Negotiating Tactics

Twenty-One

Alex

Check your account.

A week after my conversation with George, my cell phone buzzed, and I looked down, surprised to see my father’s number.

I did as instructed, and my eyes almost fell out of my head when I saw the money in my account.

He’d paid me back!

I did a quick calculation and saw that with my father’s payment and the other money I had earned, I had enough for the earnest money.

I called George instantly.

“Hello, Alex,” he said, question clear in his voice.

“Hello, George. I’m sorry to bother you, and I know it’s a long shot. But I was hoping…”

I trialed off and let him fill in the blanks.

“We closed the sale yesterday,” he said, his words short but his regret clear.

I tried to ignore the aching thud of my heart and the nausea that was my constant companion to force myself to speak. “Yeah, like I said, it was a long shot, but I thought it was worth asking.”

“I’m glad you did. And I still hope you take care,” he said.

“You too,” I responded before I hung up the phone.

I felt sad, but not as sad as I would have expected.

Yes, I’d lost the building, but I had a little nest egg that I could build on, and more importantly, my father had come through.

I have been sure—so sure—that I would never see a penny of that money again.

That he returned it—in full and even before he had said he would—had me almost giddy with joy.

Maybe we had turned the corner.

I was wary but also excited, so much so that before I called Noah, or even Birdie, I called him.

“Hello?” he said.

“Hey, Daddy,” I responded, my voice buoyant with my happiness.

I hadn’t realized I was smiling, but it hit me that I wasn’t just smiling. I was beaming.

“You got the deposit?” he asked.

“I did. Thank you,” I said. “I…” I trailed off, considering what to say next, and then decided to tell the truth.

“I appreciate you coming through for me. It means a lot,” I said.

“You’re welcome, I guess,” he said.

Something about his tone made me pause.

“What do you mean?” I asked, a frown wrinkling my brow.

“Nothing. But I have to say, you got a good man there. You should hold on to him,” my father said.

“What man?”

“Noah,” my father said, uttering Noah’s name like he knew him, not like he’d read it in the paper or something.

“What do you mean?” I asked, the bubbling excitement of just moments ago curdling.

“Not too many men would hand out twenty-one stacks like it’s nothing. But he did, all to spare your feelings. And protect you,” he said.

“What are you talking about?” I was twirling a pen, something I did when I was nervous, so I forced myself to stop, needing to fully focus on this.

“I know I’m not supposed to say anything, but you hold on to him. And take care of yourself, Alex. Good-bye,” he said.

Before I could respond, the phone clicked, and my father hung up.

I was frozen, stunned, and I didn’t know what to do.

Then it hit me.

I knew exactly what to do, knew exactly who to go to for the answers I needed.

I grabbed my keys and bag and was out of the door before I could think.