Chapter 3 - The Gold Watch
“I lost that watch playing golf,” Dad stammered, his eyes darting frantically around the room. “Two months ago. Someone stole it from my locker.”
“It’s sitting in a safety deposit box in downtown Chicago,” the auditor corrected gently. “Held by the individual who initiated the settlement.”
The room felt like it was shrinking. For eleven years, I had worshipped my father’s business acumen. I had sacrificed my own career in Chicago, my twenties, my sleep, and my peace of mind to save his company. I had let him take the credit.
“You knew,” I said, the betrayal burning in my throat like acid. “You knew Leo was Vanessa’s son.”
“No!” Dad shouted, slamming his hand on the table. “Rebecca, I swear to God, I didn’t know about the boy. I didn’t know about the baby!”
“Then why did you sign the settlement?” I demanded. “Why did you give them your watch?”
Mom let out a dark, bitter laugh. It was a sound I had never heard from her before. “Because your father isn’t the saint you think he is, Rebecca. Tell her, Richard. Tell her what they were actually blackmailing you for.”
Dad’s face turned a pale, sickly gray. “Evelyn, shut up.”
“Why should I?” Mom snapped, standing up and smoothing her skirt. The panic from moments ago had vanished, replaced by a cold, venomous survival instinct. “You were perfectly happy to let me take the fall for the embezzlement. You let Rebecca take the fall. Now it’s your turn.”
Vanessa was still weeping silently into her hands, entirely useless.
“Who is the blackmailer?” the senior auditor asked, her fingers hovering over her keyboard.
Before my mother could answer, the heavy glass doors of the conference room swung open.
A man walked in. He wore a sharp charcoal suit and moved with the casual arrogance of someone who owned the building. He was in his late fifties, with silver hair and piercing blue eyes.
I knew him.
It was Arthur Vance. He was the CEO of the Chicago accounting firm I had turned down eleven years ago to save my family’s business. He was also the father of Marcus Vance—Vanessa’s current fiancé.
“I believe I’m the person you’re discussing,” Arthur said, casually pulling up an empty chair at the end of the table.
Dad collapsed into his seat, his hands shaking.
“Mr. Vance,” the auditor said, clearly taken aback. “You have no authorization to be in this audit.”
“I have every right to be here,” Arthur replied smoothly. He reached into his breast pocket and tossed a heavy, gleaming object onto the mahogany table. It slid directly to my side of the table and stopped.
It was my father’s watch.
“Your father didn't give me that watch because of Vanessa’s child,” Arthur said, looking directly at me. His eyes held a mixture of pity and calculation. “He gave it to me because I found out the truth about this company. The truth he’s been hiding from you since the day you came home.”
“Don’t do this, Arthur,” Dad begged. His voice cracked. “Please.”
“Eleven years ago,” Arthur continued, ignoring him, “your father called you home, claiming the business was on the brink of bankruptcy after his heart attack. He told you they needed you to save it.”
“I did save it,” I said defensively. “I rebuilt the accounts. I renegotiated the supplier contracts.”
“Rebecca,” Arthur said softly. “The company was never failing.”
I froze. “What?”
“The bankruptcy was a complete fabrication,” Arthur said. “Your father’s business was generating record profits. But he had a massive offshore gambling debt. He needed cash, clean and untraceable. He couldn't touch the corporate accounts without triggering an IRS audit.”
My chest tightened. I couldn't breathe.
“So,” Arthur said, leaning forward. “He brought you home. He put you in charge of the books, manipulated the ledgers you were given, and convinced you to inject your own personal trust fund—the half-million dollars your grandmother left you—into the business to ‘save’ it.”
I looked at my father. He couldn't meet my eyes.
“He stole your inheritance, Rebecca,” Arthur said. “And he’s been using the company’s real profits to pay me to keep quiet about it.”
I felt the floor drop out from under me.
But Arthur wasn’t finished. He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a crumpled, brightly colored piece of paper. He unfolded it and placed it next to the watch.
It was a child’s drawing. Stick figures in crayon. A woman, a little boy, and a tall man holding the boy’s hand.
May you like
I recognized the drawing immediately. It had been on my refrigerator this morning. Leo had drawn it.
Arthur tapped the tall man in the drawing. “Now, about my grandson.”
