At a recent trade association annual meeting, I was asked to do an afternoon “breakout” session with a group of fifty business owners and their spouses.

The subject matter was dealing with conflict in a family business, with a particular emphasis on “how do nice people like us get in a situation like this?”

Afterwards Ed, one of the business owners who had been in the session, approached me. I remembered him because he had been sitting in the front of the room, and I noted him because he seemed very interested in everything I was saying.

During the session, I saw that he would look at me and then look at his wife.

Over and over again, looking at me, looking at his wife. He asked for my card, which wasn’t unusual in this type of environment, but most people ask out of a sense of obligation or good manners, and have absolutely no intention of ever calling you.

A few weeks went by after the meeting and Ed called me. He said that if I was ever going to be in their part of the country, I should let him know because he would like to meet with me.

It seemed to me as though he were a bit frustrated—that there was something on his mind, but he didn’t want to set up a consultation with me outright. As it turned out, I knew that I was going to be in his area for a couple of days between some other meetings, so I set up an appointment with him on the spot.

Ed lived in a small town where he owned the family company, a large wholesale distributorship about 25 miles outside a major metropolitan area.

He gave me directions to his place, telling me to get off the interstate, drive through town, and turn down the street that bore his family’s name. (This was an indication to me of how important the family and the company was to this town). But what he told me next really got my attention:

“Go a couple miles and you’ll see a two-track leading off to your left, and you can follow it back to the warehouse and the offices. But right there at the side of the road, you’ll also see a brick house. Whatever you do, don’t look toward the house.”

“Just come on back, park where you see the sign for the office, tell someone who you are and they’ll come get me.”

I was a little confused about why I was supposed to avoid looking at the house, but I didn’t ask him to explain. And when I met him, I did exactly as he told me—I turned up the two-track and drove toward the office. Although I desperately wanted to, I didn’t look toward the house.