Chapter 5 - THE FIRST LIE WASN’T SYLVIA’S
Rebecca emailed both amendments.
The first extended the facility by six months.
Routine.
The second was not.
It increased Whitmore Millwork’s borrowing capacity by $400,000 and loosened the restriction on distributions made for “approved shareholder obligations.”
My signature wasn’t on it.
Andrew’s was.
As designated manager.
I called him immediately.
“You expanded the line?”
“I told you we needed flexibility.”
“You told me sales were improving.”
“They were.”
“Then why borrow another four hundred thousand?”
He was quiet.
I could hear machinery behind him at the plant.
“Elena, I’m walking into a production meeting.”
“You can walk back out.”
A door closed on his end.
“Dad refinanced the warehouse too late. We had a gap.”
“You used my facility.”
“Our facility.”
“No.”
The word came out sharper than I intended.
“It was never ours.”
He lowered his voice.
“We’re married.”
“That doesn’t make my company yours.”
He hung up.
An hour later Monique appeared at my townhouse.
She carried two plastic storage tubs.
Nina was at school.
Monique set them inside the door.
The yellow dress lay folded on top.
“I’m sorry.”
I lifted it.
Nothing had been donated.
Nothing had even been packed for donation.
“Why did Sylvia lie?”
Monique looked ashamed.
“She wanted you to believe she’d actually gotten rid of them.”
“Why?”
“She was angry.”
“At an eight-year-old?”
“At you.”
I waited.
Monique stared at the floor.
“Andrew told Dad North River might reduce the facility because you were spending too much and refusing to put more money into the business.”
I actually laughed.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was screaming.
“He told Charles my spending caused a corporate credit problem?”
“He said you prioritize Nina over the Whitmores.”
I unfolded the yellow dress.
Twenty-three dollars.
That was what Nina had paid.
Charles had taken $181,500 from the company during the same period.
“Did Sylvia know the money was mine?”
“No. None of us did.”
“Then why blame me?”
“Because Andrew said you had influence with the lender.”
That distinction mattered.
He had not merely hidden my ownership.
He had created a story in which I was simultaneously responsible for the money and powerless over it.
Monique touched the lid of the second tub.
“There’s something else.”
Inside were Nina’s shoes, sweaters and jeans.
Beneath them sat a new navy dress with the tags still attached.
Adult size four.
My size.
I looked at Monique.
She looked sick.
“Mom bought that for you,” she said.
“For what?”
“The Founders Dinner.”
I checked the label.
$640.
May you like
Nina’s twenty-three-dollar yellow dress had been too expensive for the family image.
But apparently replacing me was already in the budget.
