Chapter 6: The Confrontation
Daniel was in the east sitting room when I found him the next morning.
He was on his third cup of coffee.
Harrison was not with him.
I had already confirmed with security that Harrison had tried to leave the property at 6 a.m.
and had been politely, firmly told that I had requested everyone remain until further notice.
I sat down across from my son.
"Carol is bringing in a forensic accountant," I said.
"They'll have full access to every account, every vendor payment, every transfer going back five years."
Daniel set his cup down.
"Dad—"
"Before you say anything, understand that I already know about the shell company.
I already know about the four payments.
I already know you suggested bringing estate management in-house four years ago, six months before Harrison was hired."
Daniel's face didn't collapse.
That was what I noticed.
It shifted — a careful, internal adjustment — and then he looked at me with something that was almost composure.
"It wasn't supposed to become what it became," he said.
"Tell me what it was supposed to become."
"It started as a loan.
To myself.
I was in a bad position — the gambling debt, some other things — and I knew the estate accounts had liquidity I could access without triggering any flags if I was careful.
I told myself I'd pay it back before the end of the fiscal year."
"And Harrison?"
"I brought him in because I needed someone who understood the systems and wouldn't ask questions.
I told him there'd be a percentage in it for him.
He understood what that meant."
"So you recruited him specifically to help you steal from me."
Daniel flinched.
The word landed.
"I told myself it wasn't stealing.
It was borrowing.
From my own family."
"Rosa Martinez is not your family," I said.
"Marisol is not your family.
Thomas is not your family.
They are people who worked in this house and trusted that they would be paid.
You used their wages as a buffer so your transfers would stay hidden."
"That was Harrison's idea.
The wage redirection.
I didn't—"
"Stop." My voice was quiet.
"Don't tell me what was Harrison's idea.
You built the system.
You recruited the man.
You wrote the note that said the old man won't check until Q4."
Daniel went still.
"Rosa found it in the recycling bin," I said.
"She kept it for three weeks because she didn't know what to do with it.
She was afraid of losing her job." I leaned forward.
"A nine-year-old girl walked into my hallway yesterday and called me a liar to my face because her mother had nowhere else to turn.
That child did more to protect this family's integrity than you have done in four years."
Daniel looked at the table.
"I'll pay it back," he said.
"All of it.
The staff wages, the vendor payments, everything.
I have assets I can liquidate.
I'll make it right."
"You'll cooperate fully with Carol and the forensic accountant.
You'll provide a complete accounting of every transfer, every account, every arrangement with Harrison.
And you will not contact Harrison between now and when Carol advises otherwise."
"And then what?"
"Then we'll see what Carol recommends and what the accountant finds."
Daniel looked up.
For the first time, something genuine moved across his face — not calculation, not composure, but something rawer underneath.
"Are you going to turn me in?" he asked.
I looked at my son for a long moment.
"That depends entirely on what the accountant finds," I said.
"And on whether you tell me the truth from this point forward.
All of it.
No more managed versions."
He nodded slowly.
"There's one more thing," he said.
"Something I haven't told you."
I waited.
"Harrison has been skimming from two of your other properties as well.
Not just the estate.
The Malibu house and the Napa rental.
I found out about it eight months ago.
I didn't tell you because telling you would have meant telling you everything else."
I stood up.
"Write it all down," I said.
"Every property, every account, every amount you know about.
Give it to Carol by noon."
I walked to the door.
"Dad." His voice stopped me.
"I am sorry.
I know that doesn't fix anything."
I didn't turn around.
May you like
"No," I said.
"It doesn't."
