Chapter 9 - The Employee My Brother Tried to Fire
“Aunt Patricia?”
Kyle whispered the name.
Dad shut his eyes.
The monthly transfers went to our father's older sister.
Patricia Carter Bell.
The same woman who had sat three chairs from me on Christmas night.
The same woman who had gasped when I revealed Orion.
The same woman who had spent years presenting herself as distant from the business.
“What was she being paid for?” I asked.
Dad did not answer.
Kyle turned on him.
“Eighteen thousand five hundred dollars a month?”
“Lower your voice.”
“We're in an office.”
“Then act like it.”
Kyle laughed.
That old instruction no longer worked.
“Dad, that's eight hundred eighty-eight thousand dollars over four years.”
Maya corrected softly.
“Closer to nine hundred forty-three with irregular payments.”
Kyle stared at her.
“Fantastic.”
I looked at Dad.
“What services?”
He rubbed his temples.
“Patricia invested in Carter during the early years.”
“That isn't a service.”
“She loaned me money.”
“How much?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
“In what year?”
“Nineteen ninety-four.”
I almost smiled at the absurdity.
“You've paid nearly a million dollars recently for a two-hundred-thousand-dollar loan from thirty-two years ago?”
“It wasn't repayment.”
“What was it?”
Dad looked toward the window.
“A promise.”
Kyle threw up his hands.
“Of course.”
I waited.
Dad finally explained.
When Carter Industrial nearly failed in its third year, Aunt Patricia loaned him money from an inheritance.
No formal equity.
No traditional note.
Dad promised that if Carter succeeded, he would “always take care of her.”
For years, that meant smaller payments.
Then four years ago, Patricia's husband died.
Dad increased the support.
Mom routed it through Hawthorne Educational Services because Patricia was embarrassed to receive family assistance.
“Why call it educational services?” I asked.
“Patricia used to teach.”
“That doesn't make it a corporate expense.”
Dad looked at me.
“I know.”
“Did she perform any work?”
“Some mentoring. Scholarship reviews.”
“Worth eighteen thousand a month?”
“No.”
At least he stopped pretending.
Maya closed the spreadsheet.
“We'll need tax counsel.”
Dad nodded.
Kyle walked toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To ask Aunt Patricia what else nobody bothered telling us.”
“Don't.”
He turned.
“Why?”
“Because we don't confront people before we have facts.”
He laughed.
“You've changed.”
“No. I learned.”
I thought about how many mistakes Dad had created by handling serious problems emotionally and privately.
I would not repeat them just because anger made speed feel satisfying.
Kyle pointed at the forged signature.
“And that?”
“We investigate.”
“And Mom?”
“We talk to her.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
He nodded reluctantly.
Before we could continue, someone knocked.
Angela Morris stood outside.
She looked nervous.
“Sorry.”
I opened the door.
“What happened?”
“There's a situation downstairs.”
“With what?”
“Melissa Grant.”
Kyle frowned.
“My assistant?”
Angela nodded.
“She was clearing files from her desk.”
Kyle looked confused.
“Why?”
“She said she'd been terminated.”
All eyes went to me.
“I didn't terminate her.”
Kyle shook his head.
“Neither did I.”
Angela swallowed.
“She showed security an email.”
“From whom?”
“Supposedly Mr. Kyle.”
Kyle was already moving.
We reached the administrative offices less than two minutes later.
Melissa Grant stood beside her desk with a cardboard box.
Security supervisor Nathan Cole was nearby.
Melissa was crying quietly.
Not dramatically.
The restrained humiliation of somebody trying not to cry at work.
When she saw Kyle, her expression hardened.
“You could have told me yourself.”
“I didn't fire you.”
She stared.
“What?”
“Show me the email.”
Nathan handed over a printed copy.
Sender: Kyle Carter.
Subject: Immediate Termination.
The language was blunt.
Your services are no longer required.
Access revoked.
Personal belongings to be collected under supervision.
Kyle pulled out his phone.
“I never sent this.”
Melissa looked toward me.
“Then who did?”
I examined the metadata printed at the bottom.
The email originated from an internal administrative account with spoofed sender credentials.
“Do not delete anything from your devices,” I said.
She stiffened.
“I wasn't going to.”
“And you're not fired.”
Kyle nodded quickly.
“You're definitely not fired.”
Melissa looked between us.
“Then why did my access stop working?”
That was the important question.
Nathan radioed IT.
Thirty seconds later we had the answer.
Her account was disabled at 7:12 that morning.
Authorized through an executive legacy credential.
Dad’s.
I looked at him.
He had followed us downstairs.
“I didn't do that.”
Kyle stared at him.
“Your account did.”
Dad stepped toward the workstation.
“I haven't logged into the system today.”
Maya appeared behind us.
“Then somebody has your credentials.”
Dad’s expression changed.
“When was the last time you changed your password?” she asked.
He hesitated.
Kyle groaned.
“Dad.”
“I've had the same one for years.”
Maya almost looked physically pained.
We locked the legacy account immediately.
Then Elena ordered a preservation hold across executive email, finance, procurement, and document systems.
Melissa remained by her desk.
I asked if she was willing to speak privately.
She nodded.
Inside the small HR conference room, she handed me her phone.
“There is something I didn't tell Kyle.”
Kyle looked surprised.
“What?”
“Your father asked me for your login credentials twice.”
Dad frowned.
“I did not.”
Melissa shook her head.
“Emails from your account did.”
“When?”
“October and three weeks ago.”
The dates aligned with the purchase order and hidden-ledger deletion.
“Did you provide them?” I asked.
“Not directly.”
“What does that mean?”
“The first time, I reset Kyle's account using an admin link I was given.”
Maya leaned forward.
“Do you still have the link?”
Melissa searched her messages.
“Yes.”
She forwarded it.
Maya opened the URL details without clicking.
Her expression sharpened.
“This isn't Carter IT.”
“What is it?” Kyle asked.
“Credential capture.”
Dad looked confused.
“Someone sent her a fake reset portal.”
“And stole Kyle's password?” I asked.
“Probably.”
“Using Dad's email?”
“Appears so.”
The shape of the problem changed again.
Maybe Dad had not deleted the ledger.
Maybe Kyle had not authorized the purchase orders.
Somebody inside or near Carter had spent months imitating family members while money moved through related entities.
And that meant Christmas favoritism was no longer the company's most dangerous problem.
Melissa hesitated.
“There’s one more thing.”
We all looked at her.
“The person who sent me the link called afterward.”
“Who?”
“I thought it was Mr. Carter.”
Dad frowned.
“You spoke with me?”
“I thought I did.”
“What did I say?”
Melissa looked down.
“You told me not to discuss the reset with Kyle because you were auditing his spending.”
Dad shook his head.
“I never made that call.”
“Do you remember the number?” Maya asked.
“It was blocked.”
“Voice?”
“Male. Older.”
“Could you identify it?”
“I don't know.”
Then her face changed.
“Wait.”
She opened her phone again.
“I saved a voicemail from the second call.”
She pressed play.
Static filled the conference room.
Then a man's voice began speaking.
Dad went rigid.
Kyle looked at him.
I watched my father's face.
He recognized the voice.
“Who is that?” I asked.
Dad did not answer.
The voicemail ended.
I reached toward the phone to replay it.
May you like
Before I could, Dad whispered a name.
And the name belonged to the one person who had access to every Carter secret before any of us realized secrets existed.
