The word “fee” hit the room harder than any insult.
Mom whispered, “It was just an idea.”
Grandpa looked at her.
“An idea does not require a personal payment.”
Damon pointed at me.
“She poisoned you against me.”
Grandpa replied, “Jasmine sent me facts. You sent me slogans.”
Then he announced Damon would have no authority to speak for Callaway Works, the Callaway Trust, or the Apprenticeship Foundation. Any agreement Damon had suggested to Mercer Lane was void.
The developer quietly stood, buttoned his jacket, and left without shaking Damon’s hand.
That broke Damon more than shouting ever could.
Then Grandpa turned to me.
“Jasmine, I am asking you to serve as chairwoman of the Apprenticeship Foundation and voting steward for the workshop property. Whether you change your name or not, you have already carried its meaning better than anyone at this table tonight.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
