Part 3 — The Silent Partner
On Thursday morning I put on my one good gray suit, the one I wore to Marthas funeral and to every parent conference since 1989. Howard Kim picked me up in his sedan and said nothing for the first ten minutes, which was a kindness.
The boardroom of my sons main office was on the third floor, with a long walnut table and a view of the mountains. Brian sat at the head in his white coat, with Kendra beside him, because she had insisted on coming. Two other doctors and the office manager sat across.
Brian looked up when I walked in. For a second he did not know me. Then his face went through three expressions, and the last one was fear.
Howard laid out the partnership agreement and the signed capital contribution. Thirty percent, twelve years earlier, from a teachers pension and the sale of my wifes house. Brian read his own signature at the bottom and put his hand over his mouth.
I said, Son, I did not come to take anything from you. I came because I wanted you to know where the foundation of this practice came from. I wanted you to hear it from me and not from a stranger.
I did not stay quiet for twelve years because I was ashamed to be your partner; I stayed quiet because I wanted you to build something that was entirely your own.
Brian could not speak. Kendra, who had greeted three hundred guests with a smile, sat very still. Finally she said, quietly, Jim, I called you the help. I do not know how to say how sorry I am.
I told her an apology is a good beginning and that I would be glad to hear the rest of it over time. She nodded and wiped her eyes with a napkin from the water pitcher tray.
Howard requested the full accounting the agreement allowed. It showed that every distribution I was owed had been plowed back into new equipment, new hires and the second and third offices, which had grown on exactly that quiet money.
I told the board I had no wish to sell. Instead, I proposed that my share fund a scholarship for dental hygiene students at the community college, in my wifes name. The doctors voted for it on the spot.
Brian came around the table and hugged me in front of everyone. He said, Dad, I am so sorry. I raised my beer instead of my hand. I forgot that you gave me the ice, the roof and the whole building.
Kendra hosted a small dinner that Sunday. She seated me at the head of the table, and she introduced me to her friends by my full name and my title: retired chemistry teacher, founding partner, grandfather of the valedictorian.
Tyler is at Arizona State now, studying chemistry. He calls me every Tuesday night, and I always answer, because some tutoring never ends.