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Hence the smallest room.
We want to own it, and the four of us in a smaller room make a more imposing presence than we would in one of the larger spaces.
Plus we’re at the Black, Inc. office. Home-field advantage.
Surprisingly, McCain arrives alone.
We all stand and shake hands, and one of the assistants serves coffee and tea.
Once we sit, Dimitri hands out the prospectus detailing our offer.
McCain pushes it away. “I’m not selling. For any price.”
I stand. “Then I guess you came a long way for nothing, Foster. Greta will see you out.”
Ben and Dimitri stand then.
But McCain doesn’t move.
He’s waiting for us to sweeten the pot. He’ll be waiting a long time.
Finally, he pulls the prospectus back and opens it.
“Does this mean you’ve changed your mind?” Ben asks.
“It means I’ll hear you out.”
Dimitri begins the presentation.
And I sit back, the same satisfied grin on my face that I see on my brother’s.
He’ll sell.
He wouldn’t have come if he didn’t have that intention, especially after putting us off for two years.
Dimitri’s presentation is flawless. He could have handled it without me with his eyes closed.
But there’s only one problem.
He’s not Braden Black.
…
“You have a gift, Brady,” Momma said to me after Benji had fallen asleep.
“A present? Where is it?”
She smiled at me and swept my hair—I always needed a haircut—off my forehead and then kissed it.
“I’m not talking about the kind of gift you unwrap,” she said. “I’m talking about something God gave you. Something you were born with.”
I was born with a gift? Why hadn’t I ever seen it? I didn’t understand.
“It’s confidence,” Momma said.
“What’s con-fee-dance?” I asked.
“It’s something that will take you far,” she said.
