Chapter 11 - THE MAN WHO HELPED HER
Grant Keller confessed in a conference room at Lena’s office.
Not to everything.
But enough.
Years earlier, Grant had skimmed small amounts from several investment clients through inflated management fees and hidden commissions.
Ethan had been one of them.
Sylvia discovered the irregularities by accident when she reviewed an old statement.
Instead of reporting Grant, she used him.
“She told me I could either help restructure Ethan’s finances or she’d destroy my career,” Grant admitted.
Ethan stared at him.
“So you helped her take my money.”
Grant looked down.
“Yes.”
“You helped her create fake documents.”
“I processed documents she provided.”
“You knew something was wrong.”
“Yes.”
I sat beside Lena, forcing myself not to interrupt.
Grant explained that Sylvia believed Ethan was financially irresponsible and emotionally dependent on me.
She wanted assets separated.
She wanted leverage if Ethan ever “chose his wife over his blood family.”
That phrase told me everything.
This had never been about protection.
It was control.
Then Grant revealed something Ethan didn’t know.
Northfield Family Holdings was not entirely Sylvia’s.
She owned sixty percent.
Grant owned ten.
The remaining thirty belonged to someone called EJD Holdings.
Ethan frowned.
“What is EJD?”
Grant’s face went pale.
“I thought you knew.”
“Knew what?”
Grant looked toward Lena.
She said nothing.
Finally, Grant answered.
“EJD belongs to your father.”
The room went silent.
Ethan’s father, Jonathan Donnelly, had been gone from Sylvia’s life for nearly twelve years.
According to Sylvia, he abandoned the family after an affair.
Ethan had barely spoken to him since.
“My father lives in Arizona.”
Grant shook his head.
“Not anymore.”
Ethan stared.
“What?”
“He moved back east two years ago.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“How is he involved with my mother?”
Grant rubbed his forehead.
“They’ve been doing business together.”
Ethan laughed once, but there was no humor in it.
“My mother spent twelve years telling me that man destroyed her life.”
Grant said nothing.
Ethan stood.
“I want his number.”
“I don’t have it.”
Lena leaned forward.
“We can find him.”
We didn’t have to.
When Ethan and I returned home that evening, a black sedan was parked across the street.
A man stood beside it.
Silver hair.
Tall.
Older than the photographs I remembered.
Ethan stopped walking.
His face went completely blank.
Jonathan Donnelly looked at his son for the first time in eleven years.
Then he looked at me.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Ethan’s hands curled into fists.
“For what?”
May you like
Jonathan’s answer was quiet.
“For letting your mother convince you I was the dangerous parent.”
