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<\/p>\nThe banquet room at The Palms Club smelled like lemon butter and florist roses. Someone had chosen white hydrangeas for every table, the kind that look expensive until they start dropping petals onto the cloth. I sat two seats left of my father with a full view of the head table and the glass wall that looked out toward the dark water.<\/p>\n
Robert Mercer stood with the old brass office key in his hand. It was the same key that used to stick in the warehouse lock on Fruitville Road, the one we rented when the company was still two trucks and a borrowed trailer. He had kept it on his ring for twelve years like a lucky coin.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m finally one time putting the company in the hands of someone who can grow it,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
The room answered with applause. Aunt Patricia started it from the third table. Uncle Ray joined because he always joined. Miguel, who had framed more kitchens for us than I could count, clapped twice and then stopped. Tom, our lead carpenter, looked at his plate.<\/p>\n
Luke sat on Dad\u2019s right. He wore a new blazer and the smile of a man who had been told, for the first time in his life, that the future was already decided in his favor. Eleven weeks. That was how long he had been coming into the office, asking where the extra lien-waiver pads were kept, and leaving at four-thirty.<\/p>\n
I had taken the Florida contractor exam at twenty-six, three months after we buried Mom. I studied at the kitchen table with a highlighter and a cheap desk lamp because the jobs could not wait for grief. I stood on job sites in August when the heat index hit 108. I signed change orders after midnight. I sat across from bank officers and explained why a coastal renovation company still needed a line of credit when the last hurricane season had been quiet.<\/p>\n
Dad lifted his glass toward me. The smile he used on nervous homeowners appeared on his face.<\/p>\n
\u201cDana can keep handling permits and paperwork until we find a replacement.\u201d<\/p>\n
A few people made the small sound that passes for laughter at family events.<\/p>\n
He sat down and touched my arm, two dry fingers, the same way he used to steady a level.<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t make tonight emotional.\u201d<\/p>\n
I smiled the way I smiled when a client tried to add a whole new bathroom after the cabinets were already on the truck. Then I looked at both of them.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhich one of you read the licensing file before tonight?\u201d<\/p>\n
The applause fell apart in pieces. Miguel\u2019s hands went flat on the tablecloth. Aunt Patricia\u2019s wine glass stopped halfway to her mouth. Dad\u2019s smile stayed on his face a half-second longer than it should have.<\/p>\n
Luke turned his head as if he had missed a joke.<\/p>\n
The waitstaff near the kitchen door pretended they had not heard anything.<\/p>\n
I picked up my water glass and took a sip. The ice had already melted.<\/p>\n
Dad recovered first. He gave the room the chuckle he used when a bid came in higher than expected and he needed everyone to stay calm.<\/p>\n
\u201cDana\u2019s always been thorough,\u201d he said. \u201cThat\u2019s why the paperwork never slips.\u201d<\/p>\n
A few people smiled because smiling was easier than asking what a licensing file actually contained.<\/p>\n
Luke leaned toward Dad and whispered something I could not hear. Dad patted his shoulder without looking at him.<\/p>\n
I stayed in my chair. There was no point in standing up and turning the night into a scene. Thirty people were watching, and half of them still worked for the company. Miguel caught my eye across the table and gave the smallest shake of his head, the one that meant not here.<\/p>\n
After the cake was cut and the speeches ended, people began to gather their jackets. Aunt Patricia came over and kissed my cheek.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou look tired, sweetheart. Don\u2019t stay late at the office tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
I told her I wouldn\u2019t.<\/p>\n
Luke was still holding the brass key. He kept turning it over in his fingers as if the weight of it might explain something.<\/p>\n
In the parking lot the air was thick and still. Cicadas started up in the oaks. Dad walked me to my truck the way he used to walk me to the school bus.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t need to do that in front of everyone,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked a question.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou made it sound like we were hiding something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you read it?\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at the key in Luke\u2019s hand across the lot and then back at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll talk Monday. Not tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drove south on Tamiami Trail with the windows down. The office was dark when I pulled into the lot. The sign still read Mercer Coast Renovation in the same faded blue letters we had ordered the year I passed the exam.<\/p>\n
I used my own key. The brass one Dad had just given Luke still opened the front door; I had never taken it off the master set.<\/p>\n
The licensing file lived in the second drawer of the metal cabinet behind my desk, the one with the red tab I had labeled myself. I sat in the dark for a minute before I turned on the lamp.<\/p>\n
Twelve years of inspections, renewals, insurance certificates, and qualifying-agent affidavits were stacked in order. The oldest pages were the ones I had filled out by hand.<\/p>\n
I opened the folder and started at the beginning.<\/p>\n
The first document was the original application to the Florida Department of Business and Professional Regulation. My signature sat on the line that named the qualifying contractor. Robert Mercer\u2019s name was listed as owner. That part had never changed.<\/p>\n
I remembered the day I filed it. The office had been a rented bay with a leaking roof and a phone that only worked if you stood in the corner. Mom had been gone four months. Dad still came in every morning and left by two because he said the jobs would run themselves.<\/p>\n
They did not run themselves.<\/p>\n
I turned the pages slowly. Renewal after renewal. Certificates of insurance that named the company and listed me as the qualifier. The qualifying-agent agreement I had signed the year we moved into the current building. It stated, in the plain language the state required, that the company could not pull permits or perform contracted work without the named qualifier in responsible charge.<\/p>\n
Luke\u2019s name did not appear anywhere.<\/p>\n
I found the operating agreement from the year we converted from a sole proprietorship to an LLC. Dad had been listed as managing member. I had been listed as member. The percentages were written in his handwriting in the margin of my copy: 60\/40. He had never filed an amendment.<\/p>\n
The lamp made a small circle of light on the desk. Outside, a delivery truck passed on the access road and the building went quiet again.<\/p>\n
I kept reading.<\/p>\n
There was a letter from our insurance carrier dated fourteen months earlier. It confirmed that the general-liability policy would be cancelled if the qualifying contractor changed without thirty days\u2019 written notice and a new application. There was a similar letter from the bonding company we used on larger jobs.<\/p>\n
I stacked the pages in the order I had found them and closed the folder.<\/p>\n
The brass key Dad had given Luke would open the door. It would not open a permit.<\/p>\n
I sat there until the lamp felt too bright. Then I locked the cabinet, turned off the light, and went home.<\/p>\n
The house was the same small bungalow I had bought when the company finally started paying me a real salary. The porch light was still on. I sat on the top step with the folder on my lap even though I had left the original in the office and brought only copies.<\/p>\n
A neighbor\u2019s dog barked once and stopped.<\/p>\n
I thought about the eleven weeks Luke had spent in the office. He was good with people. He remembered names. He had already talked two homeowners into upgrade allowances that I would have to make work on the job site. That part was true. Growing the company, if that was the word Dad wanted to use, required more than charm and a new blazer.<\/p>\n
It required a license that was already attached to someone else\u2019s name.<\/p>\n
Monday morning the office smelled like coffee and sawdust the way it always did. Miguel was already in the shop checking a load of impact windows. Tom had the weekly schedule taped to the wall with three jobs highlighted in yellow.<\/p>\n
Luke arrived at 8:40 wearing the same blazer from Saturday night. He hung the brass key on the hook by the door as if it had always been his.<\/p>\n
\u201cMorning,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cMorning.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad came in a few minutes later. He went straight to his office, the small one with the window that looked at the dumpster. He did not look at the licensing cabinet.<\/p>\n
I spent the first two hours on the phone with an inspector in Manatee County who wanted revised drawings on a lanai enclosure. When I hung up, Luke was standing in the doorway of my office holding a printed email.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe Hendersons want to add a summer kitchen,\u201d he said. \u201cI told them we could do it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you look at the original scope?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI looked at the profit.\u201d<\/p>\n
I took the email. The Henderson house was already at the edge of what the current permit allowed. Adding a summer kitchen meant a new set of drawings, a new review, and a qualifier who would have to stamp the revision.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe can\u2019t pull that without going back to the building department,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo go back. That\u2019s what you do, right?\u201d<\/p>\n
He said it lightly, the way he said most things.<\/p>\n
I set the paper down.<\/p>\n
\u201cLuke, did Dad tell you how the license works?\u201d<\/p>\n
He shrugged.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said you handle that part. I\u2019m supposed to bring in the work.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe license isn\u2019t a part. It\u2019s the reason we can take the work.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at me as if I had started speaking another language. Then he smiled the same smile from the dinner.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll figure it out. That\u2019s what family businesses do.\u201d<\/p>\n
He left the email on my desk and walked back toward the front.<\/p>\n
I sat there listening to the shop radio and the sound of a compressor kicking on. Twelve years of jobs moved through this building because my name was on a piece of paper the state kept on file. Luke had been here eleven weeks and already believed the paper was someone else\u2019s problem.<\/p>\n
At lunch I drove to the county records office and requested certified copies of the LLC articles and the most recent annual report. The clerk printed them while I waited. Nothing had been amended. My name was still there. The percentages in the margin of my old copy had never been filed, but the original documents had never removed me either.<\/p>\n
I put the copies in the same envelope as the insurance letters and went back to work.<\/p>\n
On Wednesday Aunt Patricia called and asked me to come by the house. She still lived in the place on Siesta Drive where we had spent every Christmas until Mom died.<\/p>\n
She made iced tea and set out a plate of crackers she did not eat.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father called me Sunday,\u201d she said. \u201cHe thinks you embarrassed him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI asked a question.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe thinks you were trying to take something from Luke.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at the photographs on her mantel. There was one of Mom standing in front of the first truck we ever lettered. I was twenty-four in that picture and already tired.<\/p>\n
\u201cLuke has been here eleven weeks,\u201d I said. \u201cI have been here twelve years. The license is in my name. That isn\u2019t a feeling. It\u2019s a filing.\u201d<\/p>\n
Patricia folded her napkin into a smaller and smaller square.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour father always believed a son should carry the name forward. It isn\u2019t fair. I know that. But he is seventy-one and he wants to believe the company will look the way he imagined it when he was forty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe company looks the way I kept it looking.\u201d<\/p>\n
She reached across the table and covered my hand.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know what you gave up. I watched you study for that exam while the rest of us were still bringing casseroles. I am not telling you to be quiet. I am telling you he will not hear it if you say it the way you said it at the dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
I drove back along the trail with the windows up and the air conditioning too cold. At the office Luke was on the phone laughing with someone I assumed was a new client. Dad was in his office with the door half closed.<\/p>\n
Miguel came in from the shop wiping his hands on a rag.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou all right?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFine.\u201d<\/p>\n
He nodded at the licensing cabinet.<\/p>\n
\u201cWe all know whose name is on the permits. The boys in the field know it too. If that changes, the work stops. You know that.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cJust don\u2019t let them make you the problem for saying it out loud.\u201d<\/p>\n
He went back to the shop.<\/p>\n
I sat at my desk and looked at the stack of current jobs. Three of them required inspections in the next ten days. All three listed Mercer Coast Renovation and named Dana Mercer as qualifying contractor. If I walked away, those inspections would fail and the homeowners would start making calls.<\/p>\n
I did not want the company to fail.<\/p>\n
I also did not want to spend the next ten years handling permits while Luke learned how to grow something he had not built.<\/p>\n
Thursday afternoon Dad asked me into his office. He had the brass key on the desk in front of him as if it needed to be part of the conversation.<\/p>\n
\u201cI spoke to an attorney,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cGood.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe said the qualifier can be changed with a new application and a fee.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThe qualifier can be changed if the new person holds the license. Luke does not hold the license.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad rubbed his forehead the way he did when a job ran over budget.<\/p>\n
\u201cThen he can work under you until he gets one.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat is not how it works. The state requires the qualifier to be in responsible charge. That means I am responsible for the work, the inspections, and the complaints. If something goes wrong on a job Luke sells, it comes back to my license.\u201d<\/p>\n
He was quiet for a long time.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou always make it sound so complicated.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is complicated. That is why I spent six months studying for the exam while you were still telling people the company would run itself.\u201d<\/p>\n
He looked at the key.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wanted him to have something that was his.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen give him something that is his. Do not give him something that is already attached to my name and my record.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad stood and went to the window. The dumpster was overflowing again. Someone would have to call the hauler.<\/p>\n
\u201cYour mother would have wanted the family to stay together on this.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stayed in the chair.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom would have wanted the jobs to finish on time and the men to get paid. She would not have wanted a dinner speech that turned twelve years into paperwork.\u201d<\/p>\n
He did not turn around.<\/p>\n
\u201cMonday I am going to the building department with the current job list,\u201d I said. \u201cI will tell them nothing has changed. After that we can sit down with the attorney and look at what a real transition would require. Not a key and a toast.\u201d<\/p>\n
He still did not turn around.<\/p>\n
I went back to my desk and finished the revision drawings for the Henderson summer kitchen. I stamped them with the seal I had earned. Then I emailed the building department and copied Dad and Luke.<\/p>\n
The email was short. It said the qualifying contractor remained the same.<\/p>\n
Luke came into my office Friday morning and closed the door.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad said you\u2019re making this harder than it needs to be.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m making it accurate.\u201d<\/p>\n
He sat down without being asked. Up close he looked younger than twenty-eight. The blazer was gone. He wore a company polo that still had the crease from the package.<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t ask for the key,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cI know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe called me the week before the dinner and told me it was time. I thought you knew.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI found out when everyone else found out.\u201d<\/p>\n
Luke looked at the photographs on my wall. There was one of the crew after we finished the first house that survived a Category 2 without losing a shutter. I was in the back row. Dad was in the front.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can get the license,\u201d he said. \u201cI looked it up. There\u2019s a course.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThere is a course. There is also an exam, experience hours you do not have, and a background check. It takes most people a year or more. Until then the company cannot put your name on a permit.\u201d<\/p>\n
He picked up a pen and set it down again.<\/p>\n
\u201cSo what do you want?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question hung there longer than it should have.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want the work to stay legal. I want the men who have been here ten years to keep their jobs. I want someone to stop talking about growth as if the last twelve years were a holding pattern.\u201d<\/p>\n
Luke nodded slowly.<\/p>\n
\u201cI can live with that. I just don\u2019t want to be the guy who showed up and took something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen don\u2019t act like the key made you the owner.\u201d<\/p>\n
He stood up.<\/p>\n
\u201cDad isn\u2019t going to like any of this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDad liked the dinner. The dinner is over.\u201d<\/p>\n
After he left I sat with the door open and listened to the ordinary sounds of a Friday. The fax machine, which we still kept because two inspectors refused email, spat out a revision comment. Miguel laughed at something in the shop. The coffee pot hissed.<\/p>\n
I thought about the night I passed the exam. I had driven to the office at midnight and sat in the dark parking lot because I did not want to go home and tell an empty house. The next morning I filed the paperwork and started pulling permits under my own name.<\/p>\n
That version of the company still existed on paper.<\/p>\n
The dinner version was the one that needed to catch up.<\/p>\n
The attorney\u2019s office was on Main Street in a building that still had the original terrazzo floors. We sat at a conference table with the licensing file, the LLC documents, the insurance letters, and the current job list spread out like evidence.<\/p>\n
The attorney, a woman named Carol who had handled our contracts for six years, read for a long time without speaking.<\/p>\n
\u201cThe qualifier cannot be swapped by handing someone a key,\u201d she said at last. \u201cIf Dana withdraws, the company has a narrow window to name a new qualifier who already holds the license. Luke does not. The insurance carrier will cancel. The bond will be called into question. Three of the jobs on this list have inspections scheduled in the next two weeks. Those inspections will not pass if the qualifier of record is no longer in responsible charge.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad stared at the papers as if they had been written in another language.<\/p>\n
Luke sat with his hands in his lap.<\/p>\n
Carol turned to me.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have options. You can remain qualifier and restructure the operating agreement so authority matches reality. You can resign and the company can pause work until a new qualifier is in place. You can form a new entity and take the license with you. None of those options are solved by a retirement toast.\u201d<\/p>\n
Dad\u2019s voice was quiet.<\/p>\n
\u201cI was trying to give my son a future.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou gave him a key to a building whose legal ability to operate sits in your daughter\u2019s file,\u201d Carol said. \u201cThat is not a future. That is a problem waiting for the first failed inspection.\u201d<\/p>\n
We left with a list of documents she wanted signed by the end of the month if we intended to keep the current structure.<\/p>\n
In the parking lot Dad stood by his truck and looked at the sky the way he did when a storm cell was moving in from the Gulf.<\/p>\n
\u201cI should have read the file,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI thought the license was just a card you kept in the drawer.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt is the reason the drawer still has work in it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Luke walked over from his own car.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll start the course next month,\u201d he said. \u201cUntil then I can sell. I don\u2019t need to stamp anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
It was the first useful sentence he had offered since the dinner.<\/p>\n
Dad looked at both of us and nodded once, the small nod he used when a change order was approved and there was nothing left to argue.<\/p>\n
The following week we sat in the office after the last truck left and rewrote the parts of the company that the dinner had pretended did not exist.<\/p>\n
The operating agreement was amended. I remained qualifying contractor and became managing member. Dad stayed on as a member with a reduced role that matched the hours he actually wanted to work. Luke was given a sales title and a draw against commission. The brass key stayed on the hook by the door because it still opened the building. It no longer pretended to open the license.<\/p>\n
Miguel came in while we were signing and looked at the papers without asking to read them.<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout time the names matched the work,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n
Tom brought in the weekly schedule and set it on my desk the same way he had for eight years.<\/p>\n
The Henderson summer kitchen went back to the building department with my stamp. The inspection passed on the first visit.<\/p>\n
Aunt Patricia called and said she had heard the dinner was no longer the last word. I told her the dinner had been a speech. The file had been the fact.<\/p>\n
Dad began leaving at two again, the way he had in the early years, except now he said goodbye instead of simply disappearing. Sometimes he stood in the shop doorway and watched Miguel cut a piece of trim as if he were trying to remember how the work actually looked.<\/p>\n
Luke started the contractor course on Tuesday nights. He still talked too much on the phone with new clients, but he began bringing the extra questions to me before he promised anything the drawings could not support.<\/p>\n
One afternoon he stood in my doorway holding the original brass key.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want it back?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt opens the same door it always opened,\u201d I said. \u201cKeep it. Just don\u2019t confuse it with the other paperwork.\u201d<\/p>\n
He hung it back on the hook.<\/p>\n
I stayed late that night and walked through the shop. The air still smelled like cut pine and hot dust. The calendar on the wall still had my handwriting on the inspection dates.<\/p>\n
Twelve years had not been a holding pattern.<\/p>\n
They had been the reason there was still a company left to hand anyone.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Six months after the dinner the office looked almost the same. The sign out front had not changed. The coffee pot still hissed at 6:45. The licensing file still sat in the second drawer, only now it had a new amendment clipped to the front.<\/p>\n
Dad came in two mornings a week and sat in the small office with the window that looked at the dumpster. He paid the vendors he had always paid and left before the afternoon heat settled. He no longer introduced Luke as the person who would grow the company. He introduced him as the person who was learning the work.<\/p>\n
Luke passed the first section of the exam in March. He failed the second section in April and studied again without asking anyone to make the problem smaller. On Fridays he still tried to sell upgrades that the drawings could not support, and on Fridays I still sent him back to the client with a revised number. The difference was that he went.<\/p>\n
I pulled permits under the same name I had used since I was twenty-six. The inspectors still asked for Dana Mercer when they arrived on site. The men in the field still called the office and asked for me when a detail needed a decision before the concrete truck showed up.<\/p>\n
One Saturday I drove to the old warehouse on Fruitville Road. The building had a new tenant and a new lock. I stood in the parking lot for a minute and looked at the door that the original brass key used to fight.<\/p>\n
The company had not been given away that night at The Palms Club. It had been described incorrectly. The description had not survived contact with the file.<\/p>\n
I went back to the bungalow, sat on the porch, and listened to the same neighbor\u2019s dog. The folder of copies I had made the night of the dinner was still in the drawer of the side table. I no longer needed to keep it out.<\/p>\n
The work continued. The inspections passed. The men got paid. The license stayed where it had always been.<\/p>\n
Dad called that evening and asked if I wanted to come by for leftover fish. I told him I would stop on the way home from the Henderson punch list.<\/p>\n
When I pulled up he was sitting on the back step with two plates. He did not mention the key. He did not mention the toast. He asked how the summer kitchen had turned out and listened to the answer.<\/p>\n
That was enough.<\/p>\n
The company was still called Mercer Coast Renovation. The name on the permits was still mine. The future was no longer a speech given over cake. It was a set of documents that finally matched the years that had already been spent.<\/p>\n
I stayed until the sun dropped behind the oaks and the mosquitoes came out. Then I drove home the same way I had driven home after every long day for twelve years, except the question I had asked at the dinner no longer needed to be asked again.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
At my father\u2019s retirement dinner he handed Luke the brass office key in front of thirty people and told me I could keep doing the paperwork. I had run Mercer … <\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":4627,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[10480,1],"tags":[10492,10491,10486,10493,10488,10485,8389,10489,9494,10481,10487,10482,10484,10483,10490],"class_list":["post-4634","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-business","category-finance","tag-business-succession-planning","tag-coastal-renovation-company-florida","tag-construction-company-ownership","tag-contractor-license-attached-to-business","tag-contractor-qualifying-contractor-florida","tag-daughter-runs-company-father-chooses-son","tag-family-business-succession","tag-family-business-transition","tag-family-company-control","tag-florida-contractor-license","tag-llc-operating-agreement-family","tag-qualifying-agent-construction-company","tag-retirement-dinner-family-business","tag-sibling-rivalry-family-company","tag-small-business-license-requirements"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4634","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=4634"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4634\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":4662,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4634\/revisions\/4662"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/media\/4627"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=4634"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=4634"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/theviralstory.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=4634"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}