Chapter 10 - My Mother's Hidden Investment
I stared at Rochelle through the security camera.
"What are you talking about?"
She glanced toward the street again.
"Can we please speak somewhere private?"
I looked at the closed gate.
Then at the hallway behind me.
Eli and Theo were upstairs getting ready for bed.
Creswell was helping them brush their teeth.
I had no intention of allowing Rochelle inside the house.
Not after everything that had happened.
"I'll meet you at a café tomorrow."
She shook her head.
"Tomorrow might be too late."
"Then tell me now."
She looked down.
For several seconds, I wondered whether she'd walk away.
Instead, she opened her handbag.
She withdrew a sealed envelope.
"I found these in our home office."
"What are they?"
"Documents."
"What documents?"
"Ownership records. Transfers. A private agreement."
My pulse quickened.
"Concerning Tamson's company?"
"Yes."
"Why bring them to me?"
She laughed bitterly.
"Because apparently I'm the only person in that family who didn't know everything."
I nearly answered.
Then stopped.
Rochelle had known enough to search my property records.
Enough to prepare an occupancy agreement.
Enough to help advance a false financial claim.
Her sudden discovery of family dishonesty did not erase her own conduct.
"Rochelle, you participated in this."
"I know."
"Then don't expect me to treat you as an innocent bystander."
She closed her eyes.
"I'm not innocent."
That surprised me.
She continued.
"I thought you were arrogant. I thought you had a corporate residence you didn't really pay for. I thought you were making your brother feel small."
I looked at her.
"And now?"
"Now I know you own the house."
"You knew that at the family meeting."
"Yes."
"Then why continue?"
She was silent for a long moment.
"Because Tamson was already in trouble."
I waited.
"He told me we'd lose the business if we couldn't refinance. He said Mom had helped him build it. He said there was family money involved."
"That's true, apparently. She redirected some of my inheritance."
Rochelle looked up sharply.
"What?"
I paused.
"You didn't know?"
"No."
I studied her expression.
For once, it didn't appear rehearsed.
"My grandmother left money to both of us," I said.
"Mom redirected some of mine into Tamson's first business."
Rochelle stared at me.
"Tamson told me his grandmother left him a business-startup fund."
"She left us equal inheritances."
Rochelle's face changed.
"Oh my God."
I didn't soften.
"Show me the documents."
She held the envelope toward the camera.
I considered my options.
Then called Creswell downstairs.
He listened to the situation.
We agreed to have Rochelle deposit the envelope into the secure document box installed near the exterior gate.
She would not enter the property.
I would not negotiate anything with her privately.
And we would preserve the contents.
Rochelle placed the envelope inside.
Before leaving, she looked back at the camera.
"Renee?"
"Yes?"
"I know you have no reason to believe me."
"That's correct."
She swallowed.
"But Mom didn't just help Tamson borrow money."
I waited.
"She made herself a secured creditor of his company."
The gate camera captured her face clearly.
"And when he couldn't repay her, she took control of the voting rights."
I felt my heartbeat slow.
Not from relief.
From the sudden understanding that Tamson might not control the business he'd spent twenty years defending.
"Good night, Rochelle," I said.
She walked away.
Creswell retrieved the envelope using gloves, photographed it, and brought it to his study.
Inside were copies of corporate documents.
A shareholder agreement.
A convertible loan arrangement.
A security document.
And a side letter.
The dates extended back several years.
The paperwork suggested Loretta had provided funds to Fontaine Contracting Services in exchange for rights that could become equity or control under specified conditions.
At first, I thought the documents were forged.
Then I examined the signatures.
Tamson's appeared on several pages.
Rochelle's appeared on one.
Loretta's appeared throughout.
Creswell studied the arrangement.
"If these copies are genuine and enforceable, your mother may have substantially more influence over Tamson's business than he realizes."
"Does she own it?"
"Not necessarily. We'd need to verify corporate filings, the share register, and the actual agreements."
I looked at the dates.
"Why would she want control?"
"To protect money she'd advanced, perhaps. Or to control decisions."
I remembered Mom's behavior.
The way she spoke for Tamson.
The way she told him what he needed.
The way she treated his financial troubles as a family problem I was obliged to solve.
Maybe Tamson wasn't simply the favored child anymore.
Maybe he was a grown man who had become dependent on the same control that once benefited him.
That didn't excuse what he'd done.
But it complicated the picture.
I turned to the side letter.
A paragraph near the bottom caught my attention.
It stated that Loretta intended to use proceeds from a future family asset settlement to satisfy certain outstanding obligations.
I looked at Creswell.
"Future family asset settlement."
He nodded.
"Interesting phrasing."
"What asset?"
"The letter doesn't specify."
I felt a chill.
"But Mom was trying to establish a claim against my house."
"Yes."
"And she had negotiated business arrangements anticipating family asset proceeds."
"That's one possible connection."
I put the document down.
"She was planning to use me to rescue Tamson's business."
Creswell didn't answer immediately.
Then he said, "The timing certainly raises that question."
I sat back.
For years, Mom had defended Tamson by insisting he was the one who would eventually take care of everyone.
He was supposed to become successful.
He was supposed to make the family proud.
He was supposed to justify the money, attention, and opportunities directed toward him.
Now his company was failing.
And Mom couldn't tolerate the idea that the child she'd invested everything in might not deliver the future she'd imagined.
So she had returned to the person who always absorbed the consequences.
Me.
The daughter who gave up her bedroom.
Her inheritance.
Her chance to say no.
Except this time, the thing she wanted was too large to surrender quietly.
At Monday's meeting, Victor Hale attended with his lawyer, Allison Mercer.
Margaret joined us.
Creswell sat beside me.
Victor was in his late fifties, with thinning gray hair and a severe expression.
He looked like a man who had spent a long time learning not to trust explanations.
Allison opened the meeting.
"We appreciate your willingness to clarify the property arrangements."
Margaret nodded.
"We want the record to be accurate."
Allison placed a document on the table.
"This was part of the materials provided during the lending process."
It was the alleged family capital agreement.
The same one bearing my disputed signature.
My stomach tightened.
Allison continued.
"The borrower represented that a family financial interest existed in the property."
I shook my head.
"That's false."
"We have reviewed your corporate ownership records," Allison said.
"And we recognize that this document alone does not establish a valid security interest against Birwood."
I exhaled slowly.
Victor spoke for the first time.
"Ms. Fontaine, did you know your brother was seeking financing from our company?"
"No."
"Did you authorize him to use information concerning your house?"
"No."
"Did you ever promise to guarantee his business debts?"
"No."
He studied me.
Then nodded.
"Thank you."
Allison slid another page forward.
"This is the part we find troubling."
I leaned closer.
It was a statement signed by Tamson.
He claimed that family assets and future distributions provided additional assurance of his company's financial position.
He also referred to anticipated funds from a settlement with me.
I looked up.
"He knew there was no settlement."
Margaret asked, "When was this signed?"
Allison gave the date.
Eight months earlier.
Long before the unannounced visit to my house.
Long before the family meeting.
Long before Rochelle had smiled in my pantry.
I stared at the document.
Eight months ago, Tamson had represented to a lender that money connected to me might become available.
He had been counting on my cooperation before he'd even asked for it.
Victor folded his hands.
"We are reviewing the accuracy of representations made during underwriting."
I nodded.
"That's appropriate."
He looked at me.
"Your family's internal disputes are not our concern. Accurate information is."
For the first time in days, I felt someone outside my household understood the difference between a family obligation and a legal right.
We spent another hour reviewing documents.
No settlement was reached.
No one demanded that I pay Tamson's debt.
But Westhaven made clear that it was taking the matter seriously.
After the meeting, Allison asked Margaret to remain for a moment.
Creswell and I waited near the conference-room door.
When Margaret returned, her expression was grave.
"What happened?" I asked.
"Westhaven has received a proposal from someone claiming to represent Loretta's interests."
My pulse quickened.
"What proposal?"
"A private settlement involving potential funds from a dispute over your property."
I closed my eyes.
"She hasn't even established a claim."
"I know."
"Then how can she promise money?"
"That's what Westhaven is questioning."
Creswell looked at Margaret.
"Who submitted the proposal?"
She checked her notes.
"The name on the correspondence is Adrian Vale."
I frowned.
"Who's Adrian Vale?"
Creswell became still.
Margaret looked at him.
"You recognize the name?"
He nodded slowly.
"Yes."
I turned toward him.
"Who is he?"
My husband hesitated.
Then said, "He's a litigation finance broker."
I stared.
"What does that mean?"
"He helps arrange funding against the potential proceeds of legal disputes."
I looked at Margaret.
Then back at Creswell.
The implications arrived all at once.
Mom hadn't simply claimed I owed her money.
She was trying to turn the claim itself into something financially valuable.
Before proving it.
Before winning anything.
Before even explaining how she'd supposedly financed my home.
"She tried to borrow against a lawsuit," I whispered.
Margaret nodded.
"That appears to be part of what they're exploring."
My phone vibrated.
A message from Mom.
LORETTA: I know you've been speaking to the lender. You've left me no choice.
Then another.
LORETTA: Tomorrow, everyone will learn what kind of daughter you really are.
I stared at the screen.
Creswell read it.
"Renee."
I looked up.
He held my gaze.
"She's about to make this public."
May you like
And for the first time since my mother walked into my kitchen, I realized the next attack might not be aimed at my house.
It might be aimed at my reputation.
