Chapter 7 - THE PEOPLE MY GRANDFATHER TRUSTED
“You mean we paid twice?”
Leah studied the shipping label.
“Potentially more than twice. One payment covered the original supplier invoice. Another appears inside the rental charges. We still need to establish what was actually delivered.”
I leaned back against Helen's sofa.
My head was beginning to ache.
Not the violent, pounding pain that had nearly killed me.
But enough to remind me that recovery couldn't be rushed.
Helen noticed immediately.
“That's enough for today.”
“Those materials are already on a construction site.”
“And your doctor said no overexertion.”
I hated that she was right.
For thirty-nine years, my answer to every problem had been to work harder.
Now the hardest thing was letting other people help me.
“Call Frank Dorsey,” I told Leah. “He supervised that clinic project before he moved to the county school renovation.”
Frank had been with Hale Construction for twenty-eight years.
He was a broad-shouldered man with a gray beard and an old-fashioned habit of calling everyone by their first names, regardless of title.
My grandfather had trusted him with difficult projects.
So did I.
Frank joined our meeting by video.
When he saw the bandage near my temple, his expression changed.
“Nora, I heard you were sick.”
“I had surgery.”
He shook his head.
“Keith told the crews you were taking personal leave.”
Of course he had.
I swallowed my anger.
“I need your help, Frank.”
“Anything.”
Leah shared the photographs.
Frank studied them.
Then he leaned closer to his screen.
“Those aren't the connectors I approved.”
My stomach tightened.
“What do you mean?”
“The approved manufacturer stamped their identification on every fitting. These markings are different.”
“Could they still meet the specifications?”
“Maybe. But nobody should assume that without verification.”
I nodded.
“Has anything been installed?”
“Some fittings were used in the temporary support assembly at the clinic entrance. We can isolate that section until an engineer checks it.”
“Do that.”
Frank hesitated.
“Nora, somebody's going to be upset about the delay.”
“Then they can be upset with me.”
He gave a small smile.
“That's what your granddad would've said.”
After the call, Leah showed me the company's payroll forecast.
My heart sank.
We had enough available cash to cover the next payroll, but not much more.
Several customers owed us money.
A large equipment lease was coming due.
And the disputed transactions had drained the reserves I'd spent years building.
“Could we lose the company?” I asked.
Leah didn't soften her answer.
“Yes. If we don't stabilize operations.”
I thought about the people who worked for us.
Some had been there since before Keith and I were born.
Their mortgages, groceries, and retirement plans depended on decisions made in our offices.
Keith had used those responsibilities to justify hiding financial trouble.
I would not make the same mistake.
“We tell the department heads what's happening,” I said. “Not every detail of the investigation. But enough to explain the project review and cash restrictions.”
Ruth nodded.
“And we work with the bank on verified receivables instead of signing another opaque financing agreement.”
For the first time since the hospital, I felt something besides fear.
I felt purpose.
Two days later, Ruth arranged a supervised company meeting.
I attended remotely from Helen's house.
Keith appeared on the screen looking exhausted.
His hair was uncombed.
Dark circles surrounded his eyes.
When he saw me, he froze.
“Nora.”
“Keith.”
He glanced toward Ruth.
“Are we really doing this with lawyers present?”
“Yes.”
He rubbed his face.
“Fine.”
We discussed payroll, active contracts, and equipment safety.
For twenty minutes, Keith behaved like the manager I'd always hoped he could become.
He knew which jobs could be paused.
He knew which customers would tolerate delays.
He knew exactly how many workers depended on the next payroll.
Then I asked about Hearthstone.
His expression changed.
“Adam handled most of that.”
“You signed the invoices.”
“He said the financing required certain expenses to be routed through the equipment account.”
“Why didn't you ask me?”
Keith gave a bitter laugh.
“Because you'd have said no.”
“Maybe I would've asked why.”
“You always ask why.”
“That's how businesses stay alive.”
He looked away.
Then I asked the question I'd been avoiding.
“Why did you push me?”
The room went silent.
Keith stared at the screen.
“I lost my temper.”
“You could have killed me.”
His eyes filled unexpectedly.
“I know that now.”
“Did you know I was sick afterward?”
“Adam said you were playing it up because you were angry.”
“And you believed him?”
Keith said nothing.
I waited.
Finally, he whispered, “It was easier.”
Those three words hurt more than any excuse.
He had chosen the story that allowed him to continue demanding my signature.
Not the story that required him to care for his sister.
Before the meeting ended, Keith said something else.
“Adam told me Southbank would put enough money into the business to save everyone.”
“And what would Southbank get?”
“The yard.”
“What would Adam get?”
Keith frowned.
“He said he was working without a fee.”
I looked at Ruth.
She looked at Leah.
Neither said anything.
That evening, Frank sent over security photographs from the construction yard.
They showed Adam walking the property with two men in business suits.
The photographs were dated nearly four months earlier.
Long before I had discovered the questionable invoices.
Long before Keith had warned me about the proxy.
And in one picture, Adam was pointing toward the old building where my grandfather had kept his office.
The man beside him was Philip Ward.
My husband's best man.
May you like
On the back of the printed photograph, Frank had written one sentence.
“They told me they were inspecting the yard for a buyer.”
