“Yes.”
I leaned forward.
“You spent weeks claiming Thomas's trust was fraudulent. Now you're offering to forget all about it for seven million dollars?”
Raymond's smile disappeared.
“I'm offering you a practical solution.”
“Why do you think you're entitled to the money?”
“I helped Thomas in the early days.”
“So did I.”
He waved dismissively.
“Oh, Margaret. You kept the books and entertained customers.”
Something inside me went cold.
For almost fifty years, men like Raymond had treated the invisible work women performed as though it didn't count.
I straightened.
“I paid our rent while Thomas built the first store.”
Raymond rolled his eyes.
“I managed inventory, trained employees, handled suppliers, and worked evenings after teaching all day.”
He said nothing.
“I was there when we couldn't pay ourselves. I was there when the first warehouse flooded. I was there when Thomas considered selling everything.”
I leaned forward.
“Don't sit in front of me and describe forty-eight years of work as though I was merely decorating his life.”
