PART 5: Alistair barely slept that night.
PART 5
Alistair barely slept that night.
I knew because every hour I heard him pacing downstairs.
Opening drawers.
Closing cabinets.
Making phone call after phone call that nobody answered.
By sunrise, the confident businessman everyone admired had become a man desperately searching for an escape.
The unopened envelope my father had mentioned the day before still sat on the dining room table.
Alistair stared at it as though refusing to open it might somehow change what was inside.
At exactly eight o'clock, Thomas arrived.
He didn't come alone.
The family attorney was with him again.
So was a woman I'd never met before.
She carried two thick binders.
"Who is she?" Alistair demanded.
The attorney answered calmly.
"This is Ms. Rachel Monroe."
"Forensic accountant."
"She has completed a preliminary review of your company's financial records."
Alistair forced a laugh.
"Good luck."
"You won't find anything."
Rachel quietly opened the first binder.
"I already have."
The room fell silent.
She slid several printed bank statements across the table.
"For the past three years..."
"...company funds paid for your personal country club membership."
"Your luxury vacations."
"Your hunting trips."
"Your nephew Mason's private school tuition."
Piper's face immediately lost its color.
Sharon looked confused.
"Mason's tuition?"
Rachel nodded.
"Forty-two thousand dollars."
"Paid entirely through company accounts."
Piper quickly interrupted.
"Alistair offered to help us!"
"He had every right!"
Rachel calmly turned another page.
"He had no authority to classify family gifts as business expenses."
She pointed to another highlighted transaction.
"These payments were reported as employee development costs."
Another page.
"These vacations were listed as client meetings."
Another.
"The truck purchased for Mason's father was recorded as construction equipment."
Thomas never interrupted.
He simply watched Alistair.
Waiting.
Finally...
Alistair exploded.
"So what?"
"It's my company!"
"No," Thomas replied quietly.
"That's exactly what you still don't understand."
---
Rachel opened the second binder.
"This investigation began yesterday."
"But while reviewing historical records..."
"...we discovered something much older."
She pushed forward one final document.
"The birthday party wasn't the beginning."
"It was merely the event that forced us to look."
I frowned.
"What do you mean?"
Rachel looked at me sympathetically.
"Nicole..."
"Do you remember asking Alistair three years ago for money so Nolan could see a speech therapist?"
I froze.
Of course I remembered.
Nolan had struggled pronouncing certain words.
The pediatrician recommended therapy.
Alistair refused.
He insisted it was "a waste of money."
I nodded slowly.
Rachel slid another invoice across the table.
"On that exact same day..."
"...the company purchased a custom golf simulator."
Cost.
Thirty-eight thousand dollars.
The date matched perfectly.
The room spun around me.
Nolan had been denied therapy...
Not because we couldn't afford it.
But because Alistair preferred a golf simulator.
---
Another document appeared.
"When Nolan broke his arm two years ago..."
"...you delayed taking him to the orthopedic specialist."
Alistair looked away.
Rachel continued.
"That same week..."
"...company funds purchased this."
A luxury Swiss watch.
Twenty-one thousand dollars.
Again...
The dates matched.
Every time our son had needed something...
Alistair had claimed money was tight.
Yet somehow...
There was always enough for himself.
---
I couldn't breathe.
It wasn't about the money anymore.
It was the pattern.
The birthday cake.
The speech therapy.
The broken arm.
School supplies.
Soccer registration.
Even winter clothes.
Every request for Nolan had been called unnecessary.
Every luxury for Alistair had somehow become essential.
---
Thomas finally opened the envelope.
Inside was a single photograph.
He placed it in front of Alistair.
I looked down.
It was Nolan.
Six years old.
Standing outside a toy store.
Looking through the window.
I remembered that day.
He had asked for a twenty-dollar science kit.
Alistair said no.
He told Nolan...
"Boys need to earn things."
Rachel quietly placed one final receipt beside the photograph.
Same day.
Same hour.
A receipt for a designer leather briefcase.
Cost...
Four thousand eight hundred dollars.
Nobody spoke.
Not Sharon.
Not Piper.
Not even Mason.
The evidence spoke for itself.
This had never been about teaching responsibility.
It had never been about discipline.
It had never been about saving money.
It had always been about one simple truth.
Alistair believed himself deserving of everything...
...and his own son deserving of almost nothing.
For the first time...
Sharon slowly turned toward her son.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"Alistair..."
"...is this true?"
He didn't answer.
Because there was nothing left to deny.
Then my father stood.
He looked directly at me.
"Nicole."
"Yesterday I removed him from my company."
He paused.
"But today..."
"...I think it's time you decide whether he should remain part of your family."
Across the room...
Alistair's confidence finally disappeared completely.
Because for the first time...
He realized he wasn't fighting to save his business anymore.
May you like
He was about to lose the one thing money could never buy back—
The chance to remain Nolan's father.
