Chapter 3 - I HAD BEEN ASKING THE WRONG QUESTION ABOUT THE COMPANY
Weller Care Group was not a hospital chain.
It provided nonmedical home-care staffing and operated four assisted-living communities across Connecticut and New York.
Celeste and her late husband, Victor, built the company from one small agency in Stamford.
Aaron joined after business school.
I joined after marrying him.
Not as a favor.
I had twelve years of operations experience in healthcare administration and vendor management.
By thirty-one, I was the company's chief operating officer.
That made our marriage complicated.
At home, Aaron was my husband.
At work, he was chief financial officer.
Celeste remained board chair.
Family arguments could walk directly into Monday meetings wearing business clothes.
For years, we managed it.
Then I noticed a vendor.
Palisade Workforce Solutions.
It supplied temporary caregivers during staffing shortages.
The invoices were not obviously fake.
Hours existed.
Workers existed.
Facilities received services.
The problem was cost.
Palisade was charging significantly more than comparable agencies.
I asked why.
Aaron said emergency staffing was expensive.
True.
I asked why Weller Care Group kept using Palisade even after shortages improved.
He told me not to micromanage finance.
I was COO.
Vendor performance was absolutely my business.
Then I discovered Palisade's managing member was Celeste's nephew by marriage.
A relative nobody had disclosed to the board.
That did not automatically mean wrongdoing.
Related-party transactions can exist.
They simply need proper disclosure and fair terms.
I requested contracts.
Aaron delayed.
I asked Denise, the outside accountant, whether the relationship appeared in annual conflict disclosures.
She said she would check.
That afternoon Aaron came into my office.
“Why are you calling Denise?”
“Because nobody disclosed Palisade.”
“It isn't significant.”
“Then documentation should be easy.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“You've been under a lot of pressure.”
I stared at him.
“What does that have to do with vendor disclosure?”
“Everything becomes a crisis with you lately.”
That was the first time I heard the new version of myself.
Crisis Claire.
Two days later Celeste called.
“You are embarrassing Aaron.”
“I asked for a contract.”
“You implied dishonesty.”
“I asked whether the board knew the vendor was related.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Celeste became quiet.
Then:
“You have been emotionally erratic for months.”
I almost laughed.
“According to whom?”
“People notice things.”
People.
Three days later, Aaron announced the dinner.
“Just family and a few company people.”
Why?
“Mom wants everyone together.”
For what?
“Do we need a reason to eat?”
Apparently we did.
The morning of the dinner, I finally received the Palisade agreement.
The pricing was high.
Not criminal.
Not obviously fraudulent.
But there was an amendment increasing administrative fees six months earlier.
Aaron had approved it.
Celeste countersigned.
No board minutes referenced the family relationship.
I emailed Lauren one question.
Were directors informed?
She responded:
I don't recall a formal disclosure. Let's talk Monday.
That was all.
By six that evening, Celeste had asked me upstairs.
By six fifteen, glass was on the carpet.
By six thirty, Aaron had grabbed my arm.
And by seven forty-five, Lauren was scheduled to become the first witness.
The question was no longer:
May you like
What is wrong with the Palisade invoices?
It was:
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