Chapter 4 - My Sister’s Husband Knew Too Much
Chad Whitmore had always smiled when he insulted people.
It was his most memorable quality.
He could ask how much your house cost while complimenting the curtains.
He could mock your career while pretending to admire your work ethic.
And apparently, while I had been ignoring him, Chad had been studying me.
Tyler explained everything.
Months earlier, Chad had begun asking questions about my company.
Not because Madison asked.
Because he had financial problems.
Serious ones.
His dental practices were heavily leveraged.
Two commercial investments had failed.
And he owed more money than anyone in the family knew.
“How much?” I asked.
“Maybe two million.”
I stared at Tyler.
“And Madison doesn’t know?”
“I don’t think so.”
That explained something.
Not everything.
But something.
Chad had discovered that my former company had sold for a significant amount.
Then he had begun investigating my current investments.
According to Tyler, Chad told Dad that I had enough money to “fix the entire family.”
That phrase made my skin crawl.
I wasn’t a daughter anymore.
I was an asset.
Three days later, Chad came to my gate.
Alone.
Security called me.
“Do you want him removed?”
“Not yet.”
I met him outside.
He smiled.
“Rebecca.”
“Chad.”
“Nice place.”
“Why are you here?”
His smile weakened.
“I wanted to apologize for Madison.”
“Then Madison can apologize.”
“She’s emotional.”
“She kicked me.”
“She made a mistake.”
“So did Dad?”
He exhaled.
“Families get complicated.”
“Breaking windows isn’t complicated.”
“I’m trying to help.”
“No. You’re trying to get inside.”
His eyes flickered toward the house.
That told me enough.
“What do you want?”
“Five minutes.”
“You have two.”
He put his hands into his coat pockets.
“Your parents are getting older.”
“Yes.”
“They don’t have much saved.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“You could help them.”
I stared at him.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The reason you came.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
He lowered his voice.
“You have more money than you could spend in three lifetimes.”
“You have no idea what I have.”
“I know what your company sold for.”
“No, you know what trade publications estimated.”
His expression changed.
Just slightly.
I stepped closer.
“And I know about your debt.”
That destroyed his smile.
“Excuse me?”
“Two million?”
His jaw tightened.
“Tyler talks too much.”
“So it’s true.”
“That’s none of your business.”
I almost laughed.
“You came to my house to discuss my money.”
He looked away.
Then he said something extraordinary.
“Madison deserves a certain life.”
I stared at him.
“Then provide it.”
His face hardened.
I turned toward the house.
“Rebecca.”
I stopped.
“If you let this family fall apart, everyone will know why.”
I looked back.
“It fell apart when three people climbed my wall.”
I walked inside.
That evening, my attorney called.
“Chad’s attorney contacted us.”
“About?”
“They want a family settlement.”
I laughed.
“For what?”
“They’re arguing that public prosecution would harm everyone and suggesting financial mediation.”
“Financial?”
“Yes.”
I understood immediately.
They wanted money in exchange for peace.
My attorney continued.
“There’s more.”
“Of course there is.”
“Your father claims he financially supported your early career.”
I stood slowly.
“He did what?”
“He says he contributed funds that enabled you to establish your first company.”
“That is completely false.”
“I assumed.”
“I have records.”
“Good.”
Every dollar was traceable.
Student loans.
My salary.
Savings.
A small business loan.
No money from Dad.
Not one cent.
Then my attorney said:
“They may try to claim an ownership interest.”
I almost admired the audacity.
Almost.
Over the next week, my accountants assembled twelve years of records.
Bank statements.
Contracts.
Tax returns.
Company formation documents.
The evidence was overwhelming.
Dad had contributed nothing.
But while we were reviewing records, my accountant found something unexpected.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes?”
“There was an attempted inquiry into one of your family trusts.”
I frowned.
“What trust?”
“The Hayes Educational Trust.”
I knew the name.
My grandmother had created small educational accounts for every grandchild.
Mine had paid part of my college tuition.
“What about it?”
“Someone requested historical documentation.”
“When?”
“Seven months ago.”
“Who?”
There was a pause.
“Your mother.”
That made no sense.
Then he explained why.
My educational trust hadn’t been empty.
Not completely.
And neither had Madison’s.
Someone had been moving money.
For years.
When I finally saw the signatures, I stopped breathing.
May you like
Because the name authorizing the withdrawals belonged to someone I trusted even less than my father.
My mother.
