PART 3Harold looked directly at me.
“Because you own more of Merritt than Richard thinks you do.”
For a few seconds, I said nothing.
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The room seemed strangely quiet.
I turned another page.
There it was.
A list of shareholders.
My name.
Beside it was a percentage.
I already knew the number.
But seeing it printed there made everything feel different.
“Richard doesn’t know?” I asked.
“He knows there are outside investors,” Harold said. “He doesn’t know the largest individual position is yours.”
I gave a small laugh.
“So all these years, he’s been telling me how successful he is while I’ve been one of the people financing that success.”
Harold nodded.
“More importantly, Lucas, there’s something else.”
He opened the second folder.
“This is why I asked you to come in immediately.”
I looked at the document.
It was a proposed acquisition agreement.
Merritt was preparing to purchase another company.
But something about the paperwork bothered me.
I read the buyer’s name.
Then the seller’s.
Then I looked at Harold.
“This company is owned by Richard’s brother.”
“Correct.”
“So Richard is using Merritt’s money to buy an asset from his own family?”
“That’s what the documents indicate.”
I leaned back.
“How much?”
Harold gave me the number.
I stared at him.
“That’s almost double what the company is worth.”
“Yes.”
I slowly closed the folder.
The Thanksgiving dinner suddenly seemed very far away.
The expensive wine.
The catered food.
The people Richard wanted to impress.
The way Victoria had told me I didn’t belong.
The way Daniel had looked at his plate.
I understood something now.
They hadn’t been embarrassed because I was poor.
They were embarrassed because they thought I was insignificant.
There was a difference.
Harold watched me carefully.
“What are you going to do?”
I looked out the window.
People were walking along the sidewalk carrying coffee, talking on phones, rushing to meetings.
Everyone seemed to have somewhere important to be.
I remembered Ruth.
She had always told me that money was useful, but knowing when to use it mattered more.
“Nothing,” I said.
Harold raised an eyebrow.
“Nothing?”
“Not yet.”
I stood.
“I want every document reviewed.”
“All of them?”
“Every transfer. Every loan. Every related-party transaction. Every signature.”
Harold nodded.
“And Daniel?”
I stopped at the door.
“What about him?”
“His name appears in several of the documents.”
I turned around.
“What kind of documents?”
Harold hesitated.
“Employment agreements. Bonus structures. A future equity arrangement.”
My jaw tightened.
“Is he involved?”
“That depends on what you mean by involved.”
“Did he know?”
Harold looked down at the folder.
“I don’t know.”
I walked back to the desk.
“Find out.”
He nodded.
“And Harold?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t contact Richard.”
“Understood.”
“Don’t contact Daniel.”
Another nod.
“Not yet.”
I left his office and drove home.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like calling my son.
I didn’t feel like explaining myself.
I didn’t feel like asking why he had allowed his wife’s parents to humiliate me.
Instead, I went into my garage.