“No,” he said. “You used my name, my foundation, and this club to launder your daughter’s reputation while damaging Madeline’s. I will not be associated with it.”
Patricia lowered her voice.
“You owe me more discretion than this.”
Thomas’s expression changed.
There was history there.
I saw it.
My mother saw that I saw it.
And suddenly, another memory surfaced.
A phone call from years ago. My mother in the kitchen, voice soft and unfamiliar. “Not tonight, Thomas. She’s suspicious.”
I had assumed she meant a business partner.
My father had still been alive then.
I stared at them.
Thomas looked away first.
My mother whispered, “Don’t.”
But Courtney, reckless and cornered, saw the same thing.
Her eyes darted between them.
“Oh my God,” she said. “Mom?”
Patricia’s hand clenched.
“Courtney, be quiet.”
Courtney’s voice rose.
“You and Thomas?”
The room inhaled.
Thomas looked at me, regret etched across his face.
“I am sorry,” he said.
Not to Patricia.
To me.
My mother hissed, “Thomas.”
He ignored her.
“Madeline, your father knew.”
The floor seemed to vanish beneath me.
“My father knew what?”
Thomas swallowed.
“Before he died, he discovered Patricia had moved several family firm assets into Courtney’s name. He came to me because he suspected irregularities with the club development proposal.”
My mother’s face went white.
Courtney stared at her.
“What assets?”
Patricia snapped, “This is not the place.”
Thomas said, “You made it the place.”
Rebecca stepped closer to me. “Madeline, breathe.”
I had not realized I’d stopped.
My father, Edward Anderson, had died four years earlier of a sudden heart attack. He had been stern, distant, old-fashioned, but fair in the way practical men are fair. He had left the real estate firm jointly to Patricia, Courtney, and me.
Or so I thought.
After his death, my mother had told me Dad wanted Courtney in charge because she was “more socially capable.” I had accepted less, worked more, and eventually left with almost nothing but my license and my pride in pieces.
I looked at Patricia.
“What did Dad know?”
She said nothing.
Thomas answered.
“He knew Courtney had been assigned commissions from deals you originated. He knew Patricia had altered internal records. He asked me to help him force an audit.”
My hands went cold.
“When?”
Thomas’s voice lowered.
“The week before he died.”
Courtney whispered, “Mom?”
Patricia’s face hardened again.
“Your father was sick.”
“He had a heart attack,” I said.