Chapter 4: The Uncle Who Smiled at the Funeral
Elena showed Daniel the message.
He read it twice.
His jaw tightened.
"He knows," Daniel said.
"Someone told him you met with me."
"Or he's guessing." Elena set the phone face-down.
"Either way, he moved fast."
"What are you going to do?"
She thought about her father's note in the margin.
*Family is the only thing that matters.* She thought about the thirty-two million already gone.
She thought about Marcus standing in the window, watching her drive away.
"I'm going to meet him," she said.
Daniel looked at her.
"That's not—"
"I'm not going alone." She picked up the folder.
"And I'm not going empty-handed.
Can I keep these?"
"I made copies," he said.
"Those are yours."
She nodded and stood.
Then she paused.
"Daniel — why did you wait three months?"
He was quiet for a moment.
"Because I was scared," he said.
"And because I wanted to make sure you were someone worth trusting." He looked at her steadily.
"You are."
She left the coffee shop with the folder under her arm and called her lawyer before she reached the car.
---
Richard had suggested a restaurant downtown — neutral ground, he said in his follow-up message.
Somewhere quiet.
Elena arrived ten minutes early and chose a corner table with a clear view of the entrance.
He walked in looking exactly as she remembered: silver-haired, well-dressed, with the particular ease of a man who had never once been told no by anyone who mattered.
He spotted her and smiled — the same smile she had seen at her father's funeral, standing beside the coffin with his hand on her shoulder, telling her everything would be taken care of.
"Elena." He sat down across from her and signaled the waiter.
"You look tired.
This whole divorce business must have been exhausting."
"I'm fine," she said.
"Good.
Good." He ordered a sparkling water and leaned back.
"I wanted to reach out sooner, but I thought you needed time.
The transfer going through — that's wonderful.
Your father would be so proud."
"Would he?"
Richard's smile held.
"Of course.
You're carrying on his legacy."
"I've been going through his records," Elena said.
"The ones from the company."
"Naturally.
There's a lot to absorb."
"I found the private holding account."
The waiter set down the sparkling water.
Richard reached for it without looking away from her.
He took a slow sip.
"Your father set that up years ago," he said.
"It's a straightforward structure.
I'd be happy to walk you through it."
"I'd like that," Elena said.
"Starting with the thirty-two million that's been transferred out of it since he passed."
Richard set the glass down.
Not hard — carefully.
"Those transfers were authorized," he said.
"Your father and I had an arrangement.
A long-standing one.
It's all documented."
"I've seen the documentation," Elena said.
"I've also spoken to Daniel Cho."
Something moved behind Richard's eyes.
It was brief — just a flicker — but it was there.
"Daniel is a good accountant," Richard said.
"But he only has part of the picture."
"Then help me see the rest of it."
He leaned forward.
His voice dropped.
"Elena.
I loved your father.
We were brothers for sixty years.
Whatever Daniel told you, whatever he showed you — he doesn't understand the full history of what your father and I built together.
That money was always meant to be shared between us.
Your father knew that."
"He left me a note," Elena said.
"In the margin of the original authorization.
Do you remember what it said?"
Richard was quiet.
"He wrote it for you," she said.
"'Family is the only thing that matters.'" She let that sit for a moment.
"He trusted you because of that.
Not because of any arrangement."
Richard's expression shifted — something harder underneath the silver charm.
"You're very young to be making accusations," he said.
"I'm not making accusations," Elena said.
"I'm asking questions.
There's a difference." She picked up her bag.
"I'll be in touch through my lawyer."
She stood.
He reached across the table and caught her wrist — not rough, but firm.
"Be careful," he said quietly.
"You don't fully understand what you've stepped into."
She looked at his hand.
Then at him.
"Let go of me, Richard."
He did.
But his eyes didn't leave her as she walked out.
Her phone buzzed before she reached the door.
A message from a number she didn't recognize — a third one now.
*I saw what happened at the restaurant.
I have something you need to see.
May you like
It's about the night your father signed that authorization.
— A friend*
