Chương 11
“How?”
“Debt.”
He looked toward the road.
“Vendor extensions.”
“Retained distributions?”
“Yes.”
“My distributions.”
“Yes.”
“Madison’s too?”
“At first.”
That phrase again.
“At first.”
He sighed.
“Madison started taking hers.”
“That was her right.”
“Yes.”
“And mine stayed in the business.”
“Yes.”
“Until it didn’t.”
He looked at me.
I waited.
“Your mother got sick.”
I said nothing.
“We used money allocated to you because there wasn’t enough cash available without putting payroll at risk.”
“Did Mom know it was mine?”
“Yes.”
I pressed my lips together.
“And then?”
“Then the treatment ended.”
“Five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“So what explains everything after that?”
He looked down.
“Habit.”
One word.
Not necessity.
Not survival.
Habit.
I felt something colder than anger.
“You got used to taking it.”
“We got used to treating your interest like something we controlled.”
“Because I wasn’t here.”
“Yes.”
“That is theft.”
He flinched.
“I know how it looks.”
“No.”
I stopped again.
“That sentence is done.”
He met my eyes.
“Fine.”
For once, he did not soften it.
“We took things we did not have the right to take.”
The park seemed unusually quiet.
A maintenance worker was emptying trash cans near the playground.
Plastic bags snapped in the wind.
“Who forged my signatures?”
My father’s jaw tightened.
“More than one person.”
My stomach dropped.
“Who?”
“Your mother signed some.”
I had expected that.
It still hurt.
“Madison signed some.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
“And you?”
“Yes.”
The word came softly.
I opened my eyes.
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“That seems to be the family answer.”
“I deserve that.”
“Stop accepting every insult like it’s penance.”
His face changed.
“I’m not insulting you.”
“I know.”
“That’s the problem.”
He looked away.
“I signed things.”
“How?”
“Sometimes your name.”
“Sometimes?”
“Sometimes my own name as if I had authority.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Did lawyers know?”
“Not at first.”
“At first.”
He nodded.
“The early documents were prepared by our accountant and a local attorney who had represented the company for years.”
“Did they believe I had authorized you?”
“Yes.”
“Because you told them I had.”
“Yes.”
“Did they ever speak to me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I said you wanted nothing to do with the family.”
My throat tightened.
“That part was true.”
“Yes.”
“But not with my property.”
“No.”
We walked toward a bench but did not sit.
My father rubbed his face with both hands.
“Later, when Madison took over more paperwork, things got sloppier.”
“Sloppier?”
“She created the email account.”
“I know.”
“She answered messages sent to you.”
My stomach turned.
“What kind of messages?”
“Corporate notices.”
“Anything personal?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did she impersonate me in actual conversations?”
“Not that I know of.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“No.”
“Did Nathan’s firm ever communicate with that account believing it was mine?”
“Yes.”
The answer hit me harder than expected.
“What did Madison say?”
“I don’t know every message.”
“You know some.”
He looked miserable.
“One of their associates asked whether you had any objection to the acquisition structure.”
“And?”
“She answered that you were comfortable with whatever terms benefited the family.”
I laughed once.
My father looked at the ground.
“That sounds nothing like me.”
“I know.”
“You all invented a very agreeable version.”
He did not answer.
I walked away from him three steps, then turned back.
“Why were you trying to stop the sale?”
His face changed immediately.
There.
The thing he had been avoiding.
“It wasn’t because of me.”
“No.”
“Then why?”
He looked toward the playground.
A little girl was hanging upside down from a climbing bar while her mother pretended not to watch.
“Because Madison lied to Nathan about the company.”
“What kind of lie?”
“Debt.”
My mind moved automatically.
“What debt?”
“A private loan.”
“How much?”
“About nine hundred thousand.”
I stared at him.
“To whom?”
He hesitated.
“My brother.”
“Uncle Stephen?”
“Yes.”
I had not heard that name in years.
Stephen Mercer lived in Arizona the last I knew and had never been part of the store.
“Why would Uncle Stephen lend the business nine hundred thousand dollars?”
“He didn’t.”
I waited.
“He lent it to me personally.”
“For the business?”
“Mostly.”
That word made my shoulders tighten.
“What does mostly mean?”
My father sat on the bench.
He suddenly looked much older.
“Some of it went into the company.”
“And the rest?”
He rubbed both palms against his knees.
“Gambling.”
For several seconds, the word meant nothing.
Then everything around it rearranged.
The debt.
The missing money.
The evasiveness.
My father avoiding eye contact at my graduation.
My father avoiding nearly everything else afterward.
“You gamble?”
“Not anymore.”
“How much did you lose?”
“A lot.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know the exact lifetime number.”
“Estimate.”
He swallowed.
“Over a million.”
I sat beside him because my legs no longer felt reliable.
“You used company money?”
“Yes.”
“My money?”
“Some.”
“Madison’s?”
“Yes.”
“Mom knew?”
“Eventually.”
“Madison?”
“Eventually.”
“And Nathan?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“So Madison wasn’t only hiding forged documents.”
“No.”
“She was hiding that the company’s finances were distorted by your gambling debt.”
“Yes.”
“And Cole Harbor valued the business without knowing all of this.”
“They knew about legitimate company debt.”
“But not the private loan.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because it was not recorded correctly.”
I turned toward him.
“How was it recorded?”
He pressed his lips together.
“Part of it was buried through shareholder accounts.”
My stomach dropped.
“Whose shareholder accounts?”
He looked at me.
I already knew.
“Mine.”
He nodded.
For one second, I could hear my mother’s graduation toast with impossible clarity.
May she always be smart enough to pay her own bills.
I stood so quickly the bench shifted beneath me.
My father reached for my arm, then stopped before touching me.
“You put your gambling debt in my name?”
“Not directly.”
“Do not give me another accountant sentence.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
My voice had risen.
May you like
A woman near the playground glanced toward us.
I lowered it.
