Chapter 3 - THE NANNY COMPANY WITH NO NANNIESLittle Lantern had never employed a nanny.
Kayla admitted that immediately when Julian's lawyer contacted her.
The company had been created eighteen months earlier.
Officially, its business purpose included household assistance and family support.
In reality, it had two clients.
Chloe.
And one friend of Chloe's.
Kayla had occasionally watched Ava.
Four times, according to calendar records.
Never overnight.
Never for the hours billed.
“Why send invoices?” Julian asked during a meeting arranged through counsel.
Kayla started crying.
“Chloe asked me to.”
“For what?”
“She said it was easier for budgeting.”
“What does that mean?”
“I don't know.”
She did know enough to become uncomfortable.
The payments went into Little Lantern's business account.
Kayla kept eight percent for taxes and administrative inconvenience.
The rest went somewhere else.
Back to Chloe.
Not all at once.
Transfers.
Electronic payments.
Occasional checks.
Approximately $24,000 over ten months.
That was real money.
Not ruinous for Julian.
Enough to damage trust.
Chloe finally explained.
She had used the money for a small interior-styling business she'd started without telling Julian.
Mood boards.
Home consultations.
Furniture sourcing.
Short-term rental design.
She had rented a tiny studio in Oak Brook.
Paid for a website.
Bought photography equipment.
Funded two showcase projects.
Why hide it?
“Because Julian would've said no.”
That came from Chloe during the first meeting where all three of us were present.
I didn't want to attend.
She insisted the entire conflict started with my invoice and wanted me there.
“No,” Julian said. “I would've asked why we needed forty thousand dollars for a business you never told me existed.”
“Exactly.”
“That isn't the same as no.”
Chloe laughed.
“You don't hear yourself.”
Then she looked at me.
“Your son likes women with hobbies. Not women with businesses.”
Julian leaned back.
“Here we go.”
“No.”
I interrupted.
They both looked at me.
“Don't use me as the judge.”
Chloe's face tightened.
“You started this.”
“You handed me a bill.”
“You wrote on it.”
“Yes.”
“I had every right to charge you.”
“No.”
“It's my house.”
“Then you had every right to tell me before I came that staying in your guest room cost two thousand dollars.”
She had no answer.
Julian asked:
“Why two thousand?”
Chloe looked away.
“It's what the week cost us.”
“How?”
“Food. Utilities. Disruption.”
I almost laughed.
Instead I asked:
“How much did you pay Little Lantern that week?”
Julian answered.
“Eighteen-fifty.”
The numbers were too close.
Chloe didn't respond.
That bothered me.
The first serious consequence was immediate.
Julian separated discretionary spending from their shared household account while keeping mortgage, utilities, childcare, food, insurance, and normal family expenses operating.
He did not empty accounts.
Did not cut Chloe off from grocery money.
Their attorneys made sure neither side turned finances into punishment.
But the fake invoices stopped.
So did transfers to Little Lantern.
Chloe's new business lost its hidden funding overnight.
She had three clients expecting furniture orders she could no longer comfortably finance.
Then Julian's own work suffered.
He was supposed to fly to Seattle Monday.
He cancelled.
There was no sitter.
I did not volunteer.
For the first time, my son's family had to calculate the actual cost of care they'd been receiving from me as though it appeared naturally whenever needed.
The numbers weren't flattering.
A professional nanny for Lucas plus before- and after-school coverage for Ava would cost far more than the imaginary invoices.
Julian stared at the estimates.
Then said:
“We can't sustain this every week.”
I looked at him.
“You have been sustaining it.”
He frowned.
“How?”
May you like
“With me.”
That sentence landed harder than I intended.
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