I placed a certified letter on his desk.
My grandfather had placed fifty-one percent of the company into a trust under my name.
Control transferred to me on my thirty-fifth birthday.
I had turned thirty-five while overseas.
My father had hidden every notification.
“Since last Tuesday,” I said, “I own the majority of this company.”
He ripped the letter in half.
“One piece of paper changes nothing.”
“It changes who can order a forensic audit.”
That afternoon, the board meeting began.
My father arrived confident.
Gray suit.
Personal attorney.
Perfect smile.
My mother sat beside him looking like a victim.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” my father announced, “my son is suffering from combat stress. His wife manipulated him. She attempted to steal company documents.”
The attorney displayed the forged power of attorney.
Then the fake DNA report.
Emily joined by video from the hospital.
When my mother saw her, she smiled.