Chapter 3 - MY BROTHER FINALLY STOPPED SMILING
Derek came to Peterson Tech at noon.
Security stopped him in the lobby.
He shouted my name loudly enough that employees on the second-floor balcony started watching.
I told security to bring him to Conference Room Four.
Not my office.
He did not deserve that kind of access.
Miriam stayed.
So did outside counsel.
Derek walked in smiling.
Same smile from the barbecue.
He looked at the lawyers.
Then me.
“This is dramatic.”
I said nothing.
He sat without being invited.
“You froze my account.”
“Company systems.”
“My accounts.”
“Peterson Tech owns them.”
He laughed.
“There he is.”
“Who?”
“CEO Virgil.”
“I’m not CEO.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes.”
I did.
He meant the version of me he resented.
The brother who built something while he spent years insisting every failure happened because someone else was against him.
Miriam spoke.
“Derek, you are currently on paid administrative leave.”
He looked at me.
“You’re suspending your own brother?”
“No.”
I nodded toward Miriam.
“The company is.”
He rolled his eyes.
“Same thing.”
“No.”
His smile disappeared.
There was that family habit again.
The belief that institutions were extensions of whoever held the most power.
Dad believed it.
Derek believed it.
I didn’t.
Miriam began asking about the fake executive email.
Derek denied creating it.
She asked about Jenna.
“She hates me.”
Aaron Price.
“Lazy.”
Caleb Rhodes.
“Soft.”
Redirected commissions.
“Administrative errors.”
Backdated contracts.
“Industry practice.”
Then Hawthorne.
Derek stopped talking.
Miriam noticed.
“So you know Hawthorne.”
“Sure.”
“What does it do?”
“Consulting.”
“What consulting?”
“Sales strategy.”
“Who works there?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who is your contact?”
“My father handled that.”
My jaw tightened.
“Dad handled a Peterson Tech vendor?”
Derek looked at me.
“You knew.”
“No.”
“Come on.”
“I didn’t.”
He laughed.
This time nervously.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
He leaned back.
“Then you’re dumber than Dad said.”
Miriam started to speak.
I held up a hand.
“Explain.”
Derek stared at me.
Then realized he had opened a door he hadn’t meant to.
“What did Dad say?”
“Nothing.”
“Derek.”
He looked toward the lawyers.
“I want my own attorney.”
“You should have one.”
He stood.
Then paused.
“Actually, no.”
Slowly, he sat again.
Something had changed.
“Maybe you should finally hear what everyone has been protecting you from.”
I almost laughed.
“Protecting me?”
“Dad started Hawthorne.”
“I know that much.”
“No.”
Derek leaned forward.
“He started it because Peterson Tech was failing.”
My expression changed.
“Twelve years ago?”
“Nine.”
I remembered nine years ago.
A brutal expansion.
A manufacturing contract that nearly broke us.
Cash flow got tight.
But we survived.
I had always believed our recovery came from a new federal subcontract and aggressive cost cuts.
Derek continued.
“Dad knew one of your distributors.”
“What distributor?”
“North Harbor Systems.”
My stomach tightened.
North Harbor had placed the purchase order that saved us.
Almost nine million dollars.
They became one of our best early customers.
Then disappeared in a merger.
“What about North Harbor?”
Derek smiled again.
“Ask who really paid their invoices.”
Miriam’s pen stopped.
I stared.
“You’re saying the customer was fake?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then what?”
“Dad funded it.”
Silence.
“With what money?”
Derek looked at me almost sympathetically.
“Family money.”
“I refused family money.”
“I know.”
That was why I felt sick.
My father had offered to invest when Peterson Tech was young.
I said no because I did not want him owning part of my company.
If Derek was telling the truth, Frank had found another way.
“Why?”
“To keep you alive.”
“Then why hide it?”
“Because you would’ve refused.”
“That sounds like Dad.”
Derek nodded.
“But Hawthorne came later.”
“What does Hawthorne have to do with North Harbor?”
“Repayment.”
Miriam frowned.
“Peterson Tech has paid Hawthorne four-point-six million.”
“Exactly.”
I looked at Derek.
“You’ve been diverting company money to repay Dad?”
He laughed.
“Oh, Virgil.”
That smile disappeared completely.
“You really think four-point-six million is the problem?”
I said nothing.
Derek leaned closer.
“Hawthorne has received more than twenty-two million dollars.”
Miriam went still.
“That’s impossible.”
“Not all from Peterson.”
“From where?”
Derek looked directly at me.
“Your customers.”
My phone buzzed.
A photograph from my mother.
Lucas’s burned blue elephant.
Or what remained of it.
Message:
WE FOUND SOMETHING INSIDE ONE OF THE TOYS.
My stomach dropped.
Then a second photo arrived.
A small black plastic object covered in soot.
It looked like a memory card.
May you like
And beneath it, Mom wrote:
DEREK SAYS THIS IS WHY HE BURNED THEM.
