Chapter 7 - The Master Plan
"Marcus," I said softly, breaking the silence. "Please present the secondary trust restructuring documents."
Jason and Brittany looked up, bewildered, as Marcus pulled a blue folder from his briefcase and laid three printed contracts in front of my son.
"What... what is this?" Jason stammered.
"Your mother," Marcus explained, "did not pull her support to destroy you, Jason. She pulled her support to save you from your own hubris."
Marcus tapped the top document.
"Under the terms of this new agreement," Marcus detailed, "the L. Miller Revocable Living Trust will purchase the entire inventory, equipment leases, and client accounts of Apex Medical Logistics out of pre-bankruptcy restructuring for forty cents on the dollar, wiping out all third-party debt."
Jason gasped, his eyes widening. "You're... you're buying Apex?"
"The company will be reorganized as Willow Creek Medical Supplies," I took over, my voice warm yet firm. "It will operate as a subsidiary of my trust. You will not be the owner, Jason. You will not be the CEO. You will be hired as the Senior Vice President of Sales, reporting directly to an independent board of directors appointed by Marcus and myself."
Jason stared at the paper, tears streaming down his cheeks. "Mom... I don't deserve this..."
"You will receive a fair, modest salary of seventy-five thousand dollars a year," I continued. "No corporate expense accounts. No luxury car leases. Ten percent of your salary will be automatically deducted every month to reimburse the trust for the back taxes paid on the Carmel house."
I then looked at Brittany.
"And as for the Carmel property," I said, "the trust has already listed the house on the market. It will be sold next month. With the proceeds, the trust is purchasing a charming, three-bedroom ranch house three blocks from my bungalow here on Willow Creek Way."
Brittany blinked, wiping her tears. "In... in Indianapolis?"
"Yes," I said. "It has a lovely backyard for Sophie, good neighborhood schools, and a modest mortgage that your new combined family income can comfortably afford. You will pay rent to the trust until you can qualify for a bank mortgage in your own names."
Brittany looked at me, then at the simple ranch house photos attached to the document. Tears of profound gratitude filled her eyes.
"It's beautiful, Linda," Brittany whispered, touching the photo gently. "It’s... it’s more than we could ever ask for."
"There is one final condition," I added, looking at both of them with unconditional maternal love.
"Anything, Mom," Jason said immediately. "Whatever you want."
"Sunday dinners," I smiled softly. "Every Sunday at five o'clock at my bungalow. And no one wears designer shoes inside my kitchen."
May you like
Jason let out a wet, choked laugh, reaching across the table to grab my hands, squeezing them tight.
"I'll cook the dinner every Sunday, Mom," Jason promised, kissing my knuckles. "I swear to God, I'll cook every single meal."
