Chapter 2 - MY SISTER’S EIGHT PERCENT
Claire cried in under thirty seconds.
It was almost impressive.
She covered her mouth, shook her head, and whispered, “I didn’t do anything.”
My mother immediately put a hand on her arm.
My father did not.
That was how I knew he was scared.
Martin enlarged the transfer document.
Eight percent.
Enough to matter.
Not enough to trigger attention from someone who did not read carefully.
The signature looked like Dad’s.
Too much like Dad’s.
The notary block looked valid.
The filing date was six months earlier.
Three months before Dad had pledged Blackridge shares for Redwood financing.
I looked at Claire.
“Who prepared it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Your name is on it.”
“People can put my name on things.”
Dad snapped, “Answer her.”
Claire stared at him.
There it was.
The first crack.
She was accustomed to me being the accused person in the room.
Not her.
“I thought it was part of my trust distribution.”
“You don’t have a trust distribution,” I said.
She turned on me.
“You don’t know everything.”
“No. But I read Grandpa’s trust.”
Mom snapped, “Stop acting superior.”
I almost laughed.
“This is literally what I was asked here to do.”
Martin cleared his throat.
“Claire, did you sign any acceptance related to Blackridge?”
She hesitated.
My father saw it.
“What did you sign?”
“A few papers.”
“What papers?”
“I don’t remember.”
I leaned back.
“Convenient.”
She glared at me.
“Unlike you, I don’t memorize contracts.”
“No. You just sign them.”
Ethan’s hand touched mine under the table.
A reminder not to enjoy myself too much.
He knew me well.
Martin opened another document.
“This acceptance agreement was submitted with the transfer.”
Claire’s electronic signature appeared at the bottom.
Mom whispered:
“Sweetheart?”
Claire’s face changed.
“I thought it was something Dad sent.”
Dad slammed his palm on the table.
“I DIDN’T SEND IT.”
The conference room went dead quiet.
Martin’s assistant flinched outside the glass wall.
Claire started crying harder.
“You don’t have to scream at me.”
That line had saved her for thirty years.
It did not save her now.
Dad stood over the table.
“If I didn’t send it, who did?”
“I don’t know!”
“Who gave you the documents?”
She wiped her face.
“A man.”
I almost smiled.
“A man.”
She snapped, “Yes.”
“Name?”
“I don’t remember.”
Dad laughed without humor.
“You accepted eight percent of a company from a man whose name you don’t remember?”
“He said he worked for your office!”
My father stopped.
“What did he look like?”
Claire looked toward Mom.
Tall.
Gray hair.
Maybe sixty.
Expensive suit.
A small scar near his chin.
My mother’s hand slipped off Claire’s shoulder.
I noticed.
So did Ethan.
“Mom?” I said.
She stared at the table.
Dad turned toward her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You know him?”
“No.”
She answered too fast.
I leaned forward.
“Who is he?”
My mother stood.
“I don’t have to sit here and be interrogated by my own daughter.”
I smiled.
“That usually means yes.”
She grabbed her purse.
Dad blocked the door.
“Margaret.”
She froze.
He said it again.
“Who is he?”
My mother closed her eyes.
When she opened them, she looked at Martin.
“Does the name Julian Cross mean anything to you?”
Martin’s face drained.
It meant something.
Dad saw it.
“Who?”
Martin slowly sat down.
“Julian Cross was your father’s original business partner.”
I frowned.
Grandpa had never mentioned a partner.
Dad whispered:
“That’s impossible.”
Martin looked at him.
“Why?”
Dad swallowed.
“Because Julian Cross died thirty years ago.”
My mother gave a strange laugh.
“No.”
Everyone stared at her.
She looked at my father.
“He didn’t.”
Dad stepped backward.
I felt Ethan’s hand tighten around mine.
My mother continued.
“Your father paid him to disappear.”
The room seemed to shrink.
Dad whispered:
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Mom looked toward me.
For the first time that morning, she seemed afraid of me.
“Your grandfather didn’t create Blackridge alone.”
I said nothing.
She kept going.
“He took it.”
May you like
And suddenly the clause Grandpa had buried in the trust felt less like family planning.
It felt like a warning.
