Chapter 8 - THE DECISION I COULDN’T TAKE BACK
Martin refused to give me company records directly.
He was right not to.
Whitaker Commercial Interiors was not my personal property.
Dad’s trust held shares, but the company had other shareholders, employees, lenders, and legal obligations.
So Denise did it properly.
She sent a formal demand through the trust’s administrative co-trustee requesting examination of transactions that might affect trust-owned shares.
The bank froze discretionary principal distributions while it reviewed the matter.
Mom called within twenty minutes.
“What did you do?”
“What I told you I was going to do.”
“My household account is frozen.”
“Your regular income distribution isn’t.”
“The landscaping payment bounced.”
I closed my eyes.
This was how my mother understood crisis.
Not by the half-million dollars transferred improperly.
By a bounced landscaping payment.
“Call the bank.”
“They said everything extra needs approval.”
“Yes.”
“This is humiliating.”
I almost reminded her of my birthday.
I didn’t.
“You’ll have to live with temporary controls while they investigate.”
Her voice cracked.
“You sound like your father.”
For once, I accepted that as a compliment.
Naomi’s reaction was different.
She came to my apartment.
Uninvited.
I opened the door but kept the chain latched.
“You froze Mom’s money.”
“The bank froze discretionary distributions.”
“Because of you.”
“Because of two questionable withdrawals.”
Naomi stepped closer.
Her expensive makeup couldn’t hide how exhausted she looked.
“You have no idea what Dad left me with.”
“He left you a job, company equity, and the same beneficial interest he left me.”
“He left me responsibility.”
“You chose to work there.”
“I gave him twelve years.”
“And you think that bought my share?”
Her jaw tightened.
“You weren't his.”
There it was again.
But this time she sounded less cruel than desperate.
I looked directly at her.
“Richard adopted me.”
Naomi went still.
“He knew.”
Mom had apparently not told her that part.
“He legally adopted me when I was two. The trust names me specifically. DNA changes nothing.”
For the first time since my birthday, Naomi had no answer.
Then she whispered:
“Mom said he never knew.”
That mattered.
“Why would she tell you that?”
Naomi backed away from the door.
Her confusion looked real.
I had spent months viewing Naomi and Mom as a single unit.
Suddenly I wasn’t certain they were.
“Naomi.”
She looked at me.
“What exactly did Mom tell you when you found the adoption papers?”
Her expression hardened again.
But the fear stayed.
“She said Dad died believing you were biologically his.”
“That’s false.”
Naomi turned toward the stairs.
“Then ask her why she needed me to believe it.”
She left before I could stop her.
For the first time, I considered the possibility that Naomi hadn’t invented the DNA attack alone.
May you like
Someone had fed her the weapon.
And my mother had known exactly where to aim it.
