“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.”