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Once I started going to school, I immediately noticed how different my family was. The other kids had fathers who picked them up from school and came to watch their games. And just, you know, hugged them when they were around.
I’ve lost count of the sleepless nights we spent together, her desperately trying to calm me down, to reassure me that I was just as good as all the other kids, that it wasn’t my fault that my father didn’t want to be there.
Around that time, the bullying started too. I was a timid child and let it get to me. I even started to believe all the things they said to me, and she had to work twice as hard to support me emotionally. I don’t know which phase was the hardest for her: when I was suffering by being labelled or when I started to act like a bastard?
I purse my lips and stare at my father. It took him many years to come looking for me, after he realized he needed a successor, but I had turned down the offer for a place in his life and his company.
A quick glance at his gray hair and tired expression calms down that whirlwind of memories. Letting go of past wounds is the only way to move forward. My gaze is gentle and my voice is soft when I speak. “I’m only 8 minutes late, Father. You can let that go.”
He laughs and motions for me to sit. When I reached out to him six years ago and accepted his old offer, he was nothing like this. But our relationship has changed over the last few years. It took a lot of work, but here we are.
“How are your marriage plans going?” he asks. Of course, that’s the burning issue. Having realized the pain he’d caused by being an absent father, he’s determined that I don’t repeat the same mistakes.
“I wouldn’t exactly call them marriage plans, Father. I’m just meeting new people.”
“You didn’t go through all this trouble for that, Brian.”
I sigh. This is not a conversation I want to be having, especially not today. “I haven’t met anyone interesting yet. And the swarm of gold diggers—” I start tapping my fingers on his walnut desk, not sure how to say it without swearing. “Let’s just say I’m extremely careful about who I choose, even if it’s just for dinner.”
I get up and head for the liquor cabinet. My father’s taste for old, ornate furniture is evident in every corner of his office, including the inside of the cabinet. The shelves are formed by tree-like branches, with the bottles nested in between them. I pick up a simple brandy, if you can call it that, and pour some for myself.
“Haven’t I taught you manners, Son?”
“The doctor said that you should go easy on the booze, remember?” The alcohol burns my throat, while easing some of my frustration. Despite following through with his yearly checkups, he’s unwilling to do anything about his drinking habit.
“I don’t recall that,” he says, shaking his head indifferently.
“One more reason then.” I point my finger to my head. The conversation I need to have with him will be an upsetting one, and I don’t want alcohol affecting his health or his response to the news.
He nods in understanding, so I change the topic before we disappear down that rabbit hole again.
“That’s not why I asked for this meeting.” My mouth twitches. “Lately I’ve noticed some discrepancies in the company’s finances. The numbers just don’t add up.”
He raises an eyebrow and waits for me to continue. “That’s it? Don’t you have accountants and finance experts on your team?”
“I do. They’ve found nothing. It’s as if someone’s moving things around and I can’t figure out who they are or how they do it.”
I first noticed the discrepancies three months ago but assumed it was a mistake. My team reviewed all the documents but found nothing. Ever since, I’ve had them double-check all files, all transactions, everything related to sales, expenses, payroll, and so forth. Again, nothing. But the numbers don’t lie.
“Brian, if your team hasn’t found anything it means that it is either a system glitch or—
“Or someone is stealing from me, damaging the entire system in the process.” This seems like the most probable scenario.
“Then it’s probably someone on your team. Maybe more than one person,” my father continues, his voice distant, lost in his memories.
That was my thought too. “I need to get another opinion. I’m considering hiring a consultant—”
“No, don’t do that.” He shakes his head, his lips a thin line. “Do hire someone, but not officially. Don’t inform your employees about it or it will be a pointless exercise. Don’t even do it on company expenses.”
An invisible eye. Sure, that could work. “It’s not a one-person job, though.”
“It better be. The more people involved, the higher the chances someone will try to stick their hand where they shouldn’t. Find someone you trust and move on from there. And,” he leans forward a bit to drive his point home, “make sure no one even suspects you are looking into this. No one.”
I look at my father’s tired face, full of wrinkles, especially at his temples. He’s been betrayed and screwed over hundreds of times. At the age of 15, he started working odd jobs, and by his early twenties, he had built and sold eight different companies. It was a game at first, a gamble of sorts, but the more mistakes he made, the tougher he became. By the time I started working with him, he had a nine-figure net worth. It was his advice and guidance that helped me eventually surpass that, doubling our fortune.
Making sure no one knows about the investigation will be easy. Andrew, who I trust with my life, will ensure that no suspicions are raised. Finding the right person for this job, though, is easier said than done. But I won’t trouble myself with that today. The cuckoo clock in the office strikes the hour, revealing a wooden bird flapping its wings. Seriously, this man.
“I will, don’t worry,” I assure him and toss back the rest of my drink. We quickly go over the schedule for the upcoming months—even though he doesn’t want to have an active role in the company, not knowing about its progress is out of the question—and say our goodbyes. I have places to be, and the stakes there are much higher.
