Chapter 3 - Arthur’s Anger Suddenly Had a Price
I emailed the bank Sunday morning.
Nothing dramatic.
One sentence:
I need additional time to review the refinancing package before signing. Please do not treat my prior verbal approval as final authorization.
Within twenty minutes, Arthur called.
I let it ring.
He called again.
Then Dad.
Then Mom.
Finally Arthur texted:
You’re seriously risking 46 employees because you got emotional at a birthday party?
I stared at the message.
Forty-six employees had never been mentioned during the refinancing discussions.
Neither had urgency.
Arthur had presented the deal as expansion financing.
New delivery trucks.
Updated commercial ovens.
A larger warehouse lease.
Growth.
Now suddenly the company might be in danger if I waited?
I called our outside accountant, Melissa Grant.
She had worked with Hale Family Events for nine years.
“Can you send me the latest cash-flow statements?”
A pause.
“Arthur normally handles operational reporting.”
“I’m still an owner.”
“Of course.”
Another pause.
That one bothered me.
“Melissa?”
“You should probably talk to your father.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want to put myself in the middle of family issues.”
“This isn’t a family issue. I’m asking about a company I own.”
She exhaled.
“I’ll send what I’m authorized to send.”
What arrived an hour later looked nothing like the business Arthur had described at Christmas.
Revenue was respectable.
Cash was not.
Vendor balances were high.
The company’s existing line of credit was nearly exhausted.
Several large customer deposits had already been used to cover older obligations.
I knew enough about business to understand that wasn’t automatically fraud.
Event companies moved cash constantly.
Deposits came in months before expenses were finalized.
But the pattern was dangerous.
Then I found something else.
Every month, Hale Family Events paid a fixed amount labeled:
Property support — CV Holdings.
$12,500.
CV Holdings was my parents’ LLC.
It owned their house.
The house where Gigi’s birthday party had just happened.
I called Dad.
This time, he answered immediately.
“Why is the company paying twelve thousand five hundred dollars a month toward your property?”
He didn’t answer the question.
Instead he said:
“Who gave you those statements?”
That was the moment my anger changed direction.
Arthur hitting Gigi was no longer an isolated explosion at a family party.
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My parents were afraid of Monday because the company was carrying something they didn’t want me examining.
And now I wanted to examine everything.
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