Chapter 9 - WHEN THE FAMILY BUSINESS GOT INVOLVED
Within two weeks, the problem spread beyond us.
Whitaker Commercial Interiors’ outside accountants reviewed transactions between the company and Naomi’s event firm.
There were eleven.
Not all were improper.
Naomi’s company had legitimately produced three client events.
But eight invoices totaling $146,000 had vague descriptions and little supporting documentation.
Martin admitted he had approved several because Naomi told him Dad had previously agreed to use her company for marketing.
Dad had been dead by then.
The board placed Naomi on paid administrative leave.
She blamed me publicly only once.
Outside the company building, where several employees had gathered during lunch.
“You wanted my job too?”
I stopped.
“No.”
“Congratulations anyway.”
“You think I wanted any of this?”
“I think you wanted to finally be the good daughter.”
That accusation hurt because there was a piece of truth inside it.
I had spent years defining myself against Naomi.
She was dramatic, so I was calm.
She was demanding, so I was accommodating.
She worked with Dad, so I told myself I didn’t care about the company.
Part of my investigation was about money.
Part was about dignity.
But another part was about proving something.
To Dad.
To Mom.
Maybe to myself.
Denise forced me to confront that.
“Wanting accountability doesn't require you to pretend you have pure motives,” she said.
That evening, I called Naomi.
She didn’t answer.
I left a message.
“I’m not asking the company to fire you. I’m asking for the truth. Those aren’t the same thing.”
She never responded.
The urgent estate meeting came three months after my birthday.
Peter called me at 8:12 on a Tuesday morning.
“I need you, your mother, Naomi, and representatives from First Piedmont here Thursday.”
“Why?”
“The bank finished its internal review.”
My stomach dropped.
“And?”
“I don't want to summarize this inaccurately over the phone.”
At the meeting, Mom sat beside Naomi.
I sat across from them with Denise.
Peter remained at the head of the table.
A bank attorney joined remotely.
There were no police.
No dramatic entrance.
Just bottled water, yellow legal pads, and people avoiding each other’s eyes.
The bank attorney explained that the trust withdrawals had been processed based on false beneficiary acknowledgments.
Login records traced both submissions to devices regularly used by Naomi.
Naomi’s face went rigid.
Mom closed her eyes.
Then Peter said:
“That is not the finding that required today’s urgent meeting.”
Everyone looked at him.
He opened a folder.
“During the review, we discovered that neither unauthorized withdrawal originated with Naomi’s request.”
Naomi turned toward Mom.
I did too.
Peter continued.
“Both were initiated by Evelyn.”
My mother’s lips parted.
Naomi whispered:
May you like
“Mom?”
And suddenly every explanation I had accepted about my sister began to collapse.
