Chapter 9 - FIVE PERCENT OF MY LIFE'S WORK
The forged share transfer had never taken effect.
That was the good news.
My company’s transfer agent had rejected it because required internal approvals were missing.
The bad news?
Dad had submitted it twice.
Once eighteen months earlier.
Again six months later.
He was persistent.
Nathan pulled archived correspondence.
My father wrote:
Arthur wants the family protected but prefers not to deal with formalities personally.
A lie.
Then:
Please process this discreetly because family succession matters are sensitive.
Another lie.
The transfer agent had contacted my former personal assistant.
She flagged the request.
I never heard about it because she assumed it was obvious fraud and rejected it internally.
I called her.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought your father was confused.”
That sentence summarized too many years.
Everyone had mistaken entitlement for confusion because Richard Lancaster was charming, respected, and good at sounding certain.
Rachel prepared formal notices separating him from every business relationship connected to me.
No company access.
No representation authority.
No vendor relationship.
No use of my name in financing.
Then I confronted Dad one final time.
Not at his house.
My house.
He arrived furious.
“You dragged Vanessa into this.”
“No.”
“She came to me.”
“She’s weak.”
“She’s your daughter.”
“She’s always been weak.”
I stared at him.
There it was.
Vanessa had spent her life acting superior because she was terrified our father thought she was inferior.
And I had spent my life rescuing everyone because Dad taught me love was earned through usefulness.
Different roles.
Same system.
“Why did you try to take company shares?”
He looked genuinely offended.
“Take?”
“You forged my name.”
“I was planning the family estate.”
“You do not own my company.”
“You wouldn’t have that company without the values I taught you.”
I laughed.
“Values?”
His face darkened.
“Watch your tone.”
“I’m thirty-four.”
“And still my son.”
“That doesn’t make me your property.”
For a long moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he said something extraordinary.
“If Clara hadn’t come along, none of this would be happening.”
There it was.
The real resentment.
My marriage had not taken me away.
It had given me someone who loved me without charging rent on my loyalty.
Dad hated that.
Then my phone rang.
Rachel.
“I found the original trust amendment Richard filed after your grandfather died.”
“What amendment?”
“The one that made him trustee.”
I frowned.
“He was named trustee.”
“No.”
My pulse changed.
“Who was?”
Rachel paused.
May you like
“Your grandfather named you.”
Dad had altered the succession paperwork after Grandpa’s death and placed himself in control.
