Chapter 7 - Arthur Flores Comes Home
Victoria Henderson sat calmly while everyone stared.
Dion spoke first.
"My father told me you died in Switzerland."
Victoria smiled sadly.
"Richard told people many things."
The second ledger contained another series of accounts.
Not criminal fortunes.
Not secret weapons.
Scholarship funds.
Pensions.
Employee trusts.
Fifteen million dollars had been moved away from Vincent's control.
Arthur understood first.
"You did this."
Victoria nodded.
"With Richard."
Dion stared.
"My father moved the money?"
"The original fifteen million was never Vincent's theft."
Christa frowned.
"Then what was?"
"The replacement."
Victoria explained.
Richard discovered Vincent was siphoning smaller amounts from employee funds. To protect the remaining assets, Richard and Victoria transferred fifteen million into a protected trust.
Vincent discovered the transfer.
He framed Arthur.
Then attempted to recover the money.
Arthur had spent twenty years thinking he was protecting evidence of Vincent's theft.
In reality, he was protecting the map to money belonging to hundreds of ordinary employees.
Christa stared at the ledger.
"Where is it now?"
Victoria smiled.
"Still there."
"All of it?"
"With interest."
Dion leaned back.
"So Vincent spent twenty years hunting money he could never legally touch."
"Correct."
Arthur laughed.
For the first time, Christa heard her father's real laugh.
It sounded like hers.
That nearly broke her again.
Victoria produced documents proving everything.
The next morning, federal investigators froze Vincent's remaining corporate accounts.
By afternoon, newspapers were reporting financial investigations into several shell companies.
Christa didn't celebrate.
Not yet.
There was still too much unfinished business.
She returned home with Arthur.
They sat in her kitchen.
The ruined cabinets had been repaired.
But Christa had deliberately left one scratch in the old wooden table.
Arthur touched it.
"You did this."
"When I was five."
"You tried cutting cookies with a steak knife."
Christa smiled.
"You yelled."
"I panicked."
"You yelled."
"I was an inexperienced father."
"You were thirty-four."
"Exactly."
They laughed.
Then silence arrived.
The difficult kind.
Christa looked at him.
"Why didn't you come home three years ago?"
Arthur's eyes filled.
"Fear."
"Of Vincent?"
"Of you."
She frowned.
"I'd spent seventeen years imagining what I'd say."
"And?"
"I realized nothing could justify missing your childhood."
Christa looked down.
"Nothing can."
"I know."
"I needed you."
"I know."
"Mom needed you."
"I know."
"You don't get those years back."
"No."
She appreciated that he didn't ask forgiveness.
Didn't demand understanding.
He simply accepted the damage.
Arthur wiped his eyes.
"I don't expect you to call me Dad."
Christa looked at him.
"I don't know what I'm going to call you."
"Arthur works."
She smiled faintly.
"That's weird."
"Very."
"But maybe we start with coffee."
"I'd like that."
"And maybe you teach me that cinnamon bread again."
Arthur smiled.
"I'd like that more."
That evening, Dion arrived carrying groceries.
Christa opened the door.
"What is this?"
"I was told we're baking."
"By whom?"
"Arthur."
"Traitor."
Arthur called from the kitchen.
"I heard that."
Dion removed his coat.
Christa noticed the expensive suit beneath it.
"You're baking in that?"
"I own other suits."
"That's not what I asked."
Twenty minutes later, Dion Henderson had flour on his sleeves.
Christa laughed so hard she had to sit down.
He looked offended.
"This recipe is poorly written."
"My father wrote it."
"That explains everything."
Arthur threw a dish towel at him.
For one strange, beautiful hour, Christa experienced something she'd thought impossible.
Her father.
Her mother, who arrived carrying wine.
The man she was beginning to love.
A kitchen.
Laughter.
No secrets.
Or almost none.
After dinner, Arthur pulled Christa aside.
"There's something else."
She sighed.
"Of course there is."
"Vincent contacted me."
"When?"
"An hour ago."
"What does he want?"
"To meet."
"No."
"He says he has one final document."
"What document?"
Arthur's expression darkened.
"Something that proves somebody else knew exactly what he was doing."
"Who?"
"He wouldn't say."
Christa looked toward Dion.
He was helping Elena clear plates.
Arthur continued.
"Vincent specifically said Dion must not come."
Christa's stomach tightened.
"Where?"
"The old Henderson winery."
"When?"
"Midnight."
Christa looked at the clock.
11:18.
"No."
Arthur frowned.
"No?"
"We're finished letting Vincent choose the rules."
She walked toward Dion.
He looked up.
"What happened?"
"Vincent wants a meeting."
Dion immediately set down the plate.
"Where?"
Christa smiled.
"He's about to learn we're bringing everyone."
At 11:56, they arrived at the abandoned winery.
Christa.
Dion.
Arthur.
Samuel.
Victoria.
And two attorneys waiting outside with copies of every document.
Vincent stood inside the old tasting room.
He looked exhausted.
"You brought an audience."
Christa folded her arms.
"You spent twenty years depending on private conversations."
Vincent looked at Dion.
"She changed you."
Dion shook his head.
"No."
He looked at Christa.
"She changed herself."
Christa felt something warm in her chest.
Vincent placed an envelope on the table.
"Everything you think you know is incomplete."
Arthur stepped forward.
"Then finish it."
Vincent opened the envelope.
He removed a birth certificate.
Christa frowned.
Then Vincent turned it around.
Arthur stared.
His face went white.
Christa saw the name.
A child's name.
A child born thirty-two years ago.
The mother's name was Victoria Henderson.
The father's name—
Arthur Flores.
Christa looked at her father.
May you like
Then at Victoria.
And suddenly understood why both of them looked terrified.
