The authorization specifically referenced the estimate number and therefore the agreed scope and price.
“She knows exactly what she agreed to,” I told Dad.
“Yes.”
“So why is she refusing?”
“Because she thinks she can.”
Then he became quiet.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“When I went back to discuss it, she mentioned you.”
My stomach tightened.
“What did she say?”
“She reminded me that her husband employs my daughter.”
I immediately understood.
Melissa was suggesting that if Dad continued demanding full payment, my job might somehow become part of the disagreement.
“Dad, I can talk to Richard.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I want to handle it myself.”
Then he added something strange.
“And I have something.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
“Dad.”
“Go to work in the morning.”
His voice was calm.
Not excited.
Not angry.
It was the voice he used whenever he had finally understood a difficult problem.
The following morning, at 7:46, my phone rang.
Dad.
“Get over here.”
“Where?”
“Richard’s house.”
“What happened?”
“Your boss just found out what was underneath his pool.”
I froze.
