Chương 8
“Some.”
“I know how it sounds.”
“It sounds itemized.”
Natalie pushed a statement toward Daniel. The South Hollow LLC had received one hundred eighty thousand dollars. Seventy-five thousand went to a lender. Sixty-two thousand went to contractors. Twenty-eight thousand went to furniture and appliances. The rest covered taxes, fees, and an overdue payment to Tyler’s brokerage.
“Dad called it an advance,” Natalie said. “He said the house would be photographed for a Carter catalog and then sold. He said you agreed at dinner.”
“I said no at dinner.”
“I remember.”
Emily looked at her sister.
Natalie’s eyes filled, but she blinked until the tears receded. “Tyler said Dad wouldn’t move that much money without approval. I wanted to believe him.”
Marcus’s voice came through the laptop speaker. “Did Richard ask you to sign anything?”
Natalie pulled a document from the tote.
It was a promotional-use agreement granting Carter Millwork permission to photograph cabinetry in the South Hollow house. Emily’s name appeared at the bottom.
The signature looked genuine.
Daniel examined it. “Did you see Emily sign this?”
“No.”
“Who gave it to you?”
“Dad.”
Emily studied the page. The signature had been copied from a contract she used years earlier, before she began signing with a middle initial. Richard had chosen an old version.
Marcus swore softly.
Natalie looked at Emily. “I’m sorry.”
Emily’s first impulse was to say that sorry did not repay a line of credit. The sentence formed cleanly and waited.
Instead she asked, “Can the house be sold?”
Natalie stared at her. “What?”
“Can you sell it?”
“Tyler says the market is soft.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“It’s our home.”
“You moved in four days ago.”
“We sold our condo. We have nowhere else.”
“You have one hundred eighty thousand dollars of company money in the walls.”
Natalie’s face hardened. “I didn’t steal it.”
“You used it.”
“Because Dad told me it was approved.”
“You knew I said no.”
“I thought you changed your mind.”
“Why?”
“Because you always do when he pushes long enough.”
The words struck more accurately than Natalie intended.
Emily leaned back.
Everyone in the room became quiet. Even Marcus looked away from the screen.
Natalie pressed both palms against the table. “You say I never had to ask. Maybe that’s true. But you never really said no either. You complained. You made faces. You told Dad things were irresponsible, then you fixed them. How was I supposed to know this time was different?”
Daniel shifted, but Emily lifted a hand to stop him.
She had spent years believing the family ignored her boundaries. Natalie had named the uglier half: Emily often announced boundaries and then removed them herself before anyone had to respect them.
Capable had become a performance she maintained even while resenting the audience.
“The house has to be listed,” Emily said.
Natalie’s mouth tightened. “Emily.”
“The proceeds repay the company. If there’s a shortfall, you and Tyler sign a repayment agreement.”
“You’re punishing us for what Dad did.”
“No. I’m assigning the cost to the people who received the money.”
“We’ll lose everything we put into it.”
“So may thirty-seven employees.”
“You think your employees are your real family now?”
Marcus looked down at his tablet.
Emily felt heat rise into her face. “Don’t.”
“It’s what you mean.”
“No. It’s what you say when you want your comfort to count more than someone else’s rent.”
Natalie pushed back from the table. “You’ve always hated that he loves me differently.”
There it was: not more, but differently. The family’s preferred word for unequal things.
Emily’s abdomen tightened with pain. She waited until she could speak without losing breath.
“I don’t hate that he loves you,” she said. “I hate what he asks me to pay for it.”
Natalie’s expression changed.
For once, no one rushed to fill the silence.
Daniel gathered the documents. “We need copies. The originals should remain secured.”
Natalie released them reluctantly. “What happens to Dad?”
Emily looked at the old copied signature.
“That depends on what he does next.”
Richard’s next move arrived before evening.
He sent a video to twelve senior employees and three longtime customers. He recorded it in his garage workshop, standing behind a scarred workbench. He looked older than he had in the ICU. The packing tape was gone from his sleeve.
“I built Carter Millwork with my wife from nothing,” he began. “Now, during a painful family medical crisis, outside advisers are attempting to separate the company from the Carter family.”
He did not name Daniel, but the phrase outside advisers did enough work.
Richard said Emily was recovering and deserved privacy. He said decisions made under extreme medication should not determine the future of a forty-year business. He said he had invested company funds in a demonstration property intended to generate new sales. He said Marcus had used the confusion to consolidate power.
The video ended with Richard resting both hands on the workbench.
“I’m asking everyone who cares about this company to wait for the facts.”
Marcus forwarded it to Emily with one sentence.
I am going to put his truck through the kiln.
Emily called immediately.
“You are not going to put anything through the kiln.”
“It wouldn’t fit.”
“Marcus.”
“He sent it to Northbridge Hotels.”
Emily closed her eyes. Northbridge represented nearly a quarter of the company’s projected revenue for the year.
“What did they say?”
“They want a meeting before releasing the next deposit.”
“When?”
“Monday.”
It was Thursday.
Emily’s discharge was not expected before Tuesday.
“Schedule it by video.”
“They requested you in person.”
“I’m in a hospital.”
“They know.”
Daniel, listening beside the bed, shook his head. “No.”
Emily covered the phone. “No what?”
“No client meeting from a surgical floor.”
“Then get me discharged.”
“I’m a lawyer.”
“Be versatile.”
May you like
Marcus spoke from the phone. “Northbridge’s counsel is asking whether leadership authority is disputed. If we can’t confirm, they may pause.”
The contract was worth four million dollars over eighteen months. Losing it would not immediately destroy the company. It would start a chain that might.
