“I really shouldn’t discuss board matters.”

“I’m not asking you to. I’m asking whether my family’s company is in trouble.”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “Not trouble, exactly.”

“Then what?” I heard a door open on her end. “I have to go,” she whispered. “Sophia — speak to your father. Not Daniel. Your father.” The line went dead.

I called my father’s cell. It rang to voicemail. “Dad, it’s me. Please call as soon as you can. Don’t mention this message to Daniel.” Something made me add, “And don’t sign anything today.”

A memory rose without warning. Two months earlier, Daniel and I in my father’s library after dinner, the men talking taxes and manufacturing costs over old Scotch.