Chapter 4 - I STOPPED LETTING GRIEF MAKE ME PASSIVE
The first thing I did was go to a doctor.
Not because Vanessa said I was confused.
Because bruises become arguments if nobody documents them.
The purple mark along my cheek had come from the night Vanessa told me to leave the Greenwood Village house.
We had been arguing in Neftalí’s study.
She wanted the lifetime-support acknowledgment signed.
I refused.
She grabbed my arm.
I pulled away.
She shoved me backward into the edge of a bookcase.
At the time, I did not call police.
My son had been buried that morning.
I wanted silence.
That silence became permission.
The cabin shove happened three days later.
Claire witnessed it.
This time I gave a statement.
No dramatic arrest.
No squad cars racing into the mountains.
A detective took photographs.
Claire provided her account.
Vanessa denied intending to hurt me.
The case would move however it moved.
I refused to build my life around predicting it.
Then Rebecca and I turned to finances.
I revoked my corporate voting proxy to Neftalí.
Legally unnecessary after his death, but symbolically important.
I notified Hayes Alpine in writing that I would exercise my own votes until further notice.
The board chair, Howard Bell, called within ten minutes.
Howard had known me thirty-five years.
“I’m sorry it took this to get you back into a board packet.”
“So am I.”
He hesitated.
“Vanessa says you’re acting out of grief.”
“I am grieving.”
“She says you don’t understand the company’s current finances.”
“That may be true.”
He seemed surprised.
I continued.
“So send them to me.”
That ended the argument.
The second decision was harder.
Rebecca recommended a forensic accountant independent of Martin Keene.
Martin had worked for Neftalí.
He might be honest.
He might also have exposure.
We hired Priya Shah.
Within a week, she found my name in Hayes Alpine’s books.
Not merely on family-support reimbursements.
On board schedules.
E. HAYES PROPERTY REHABILITATION.
E. HAYES MOUNTAIN RESIDENCE SUPPORT.
E. HAYES MEDICAL / ACCESSIBILITY.
The total:
$1,182,640.
Exactly the number in the case.
Priya asked whether the cabin had undergone major rehabilitation.
“No.”
“Roof?”
“Replaced six years ago. Insurance paid most of it.”
“Foundation work?”
“No.”
“Accessibility modifications?”
I almost laughed.
“The bathroom still has a tub I can barely climb into.”
“Vehicle?”
“My Subaru is eight years old.”
“Medical support?”
“No.”
She nodded.
“Then we need invoices.”
Invoices existed.
That was the problem.
Summit Ridge Construction.
North Peak Mechanical.
Aspen Wellness Interiors.
All real companies.
All had done work somewhere.
Just not for me.
The addresses told the story.
Two invoices belonged to Summit Vale Lodges.
One to the Greenwood Village house.
One to a model retreat cabin near Breckenridge.
Yet Hayes Alpine bookkeeping had grouped them under my supposed support.
“How does that happen?” I asked.
Priya answered carefully.
“Someone tells accounting what category to use.”
“Who?”
“We establish that.”
Again.
Facts before anger.
I was beginning to appreciate the discipline.
Then Howard called another board meeting.
Before it started, Vanessa sent me a text.
If you blow up Hayes Alpine, every employee will know Neftalí died ashamed of you.
I read it once.
Then forwarded it to Rebecca.
No reply.
At the board meeting, I asked one question.
“Has anyone independently reviewed transactions involving Summit Vale?”
Silence.
Howard looked toward CFO Kevin Mercer.
Kevin looked uncomfortable.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Neftalí said they were family-related.”
My throat tightened.
“Neftalí said that?”
“Yes.”
That complicated everything.
Until then, I wanted a clean line.
Vanessa lied.
Neftalí discovered.
I was framed.
May you like
Instead, my son himself had approved at least some of the descriptions attached to my name.
My dead child was not going to emerge from that floor compartment perfectly innocent.
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