Chapter 4 - The Penthouse Secret
Peter recovered quickly.
“Daniel, why is Claire reviewing private financial records?”
“Because somebody has to,” I said.
Dad shot me a warning look.
Peter laughed softly.
“The last time I checked, you were a medical student.”
“Things change.”
“Apparently.”
He moved toward the desk.
I placed my hand over the invoices.
“Don’t touch them.”
Peter stopped.
His expression remained polite, but his eyes turned cold.
“Claire, your father and I have handled these clinics for years.”
“No. Dad handled the clinics. You handled the money.”
Dad stood.
“That’s enough.”
I looked at him.
“You’re defending him?”
“I’m trying to understand what’s happening.”
“Then start asking questions.”
Peter sighed.
“This is ridiculous. Lawson Strategic was approved as part of our restructuring efforts.”
“Then show us the engagement agreement.”
“I don’t carry corporate files in my pocket.”
“You altered Dad’s electronic authorization.”
Peter’s jaw tightened.
“That is a serious accusation.”
“It’s supported by metadata.”
I was bluffing slightly.
Marcus had identified inconsistencies, but we had not yet completed a forensic examination.
Peter didn’t know that.
And his reaction told me everything.
He turned to Dad.
“You’re going to let your daughter walk in here after abandoning her education and accuse me of fraud?”
Dad flinched at the word abandoning.
I saw Peter notice.
He knew exactly where to push.
“She has no experience running a medical practice.”
“I have experience building software used by more than six thousand of them.”
The room went silent.
Dad slowly turned toward me.
Peter frowned.
“What?”
I shouldn’t have said it.
But there was no taking it back.
Dad stared at me.
“What software?”
I picked up the papers.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
“It didn’t matter three weeks ago.”
“Claire.”
I headed for the door.
Peter stepped sideways, blocking me.
“Six thousand clinics?”
I looked directly at him.
“Move.”
Something changed in his face.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
“MedAxis,” he said.
Dad looked between us.
“What’s MedAxis?”
Peter continued staring at me.
“The company acquired by Horizon Systems two months ago.”
I said nothing.
Peter’s face went pale.
He knew.
Dad didn’t.
Not yet.
“What does that have to do with Claire?” Dad demanded.
Peter gave a strange laugh.
“You really don’t know?”
I walked past him.
Dad followed me downstairs and into the parking lot.
“Claire!”
I kept walking.
He grabbed my arm.
I stopped and looked at his hand.
He released me immediately.
“What is MedAxis?”
“My company.”
The words seemed to hit him physically.
“What do you mean, your company?”
“I cofounded it.”
“When?”
“Three years ago.”
“You were in medical school.”
“I did both.”
He stared at me.
“Peter said it was acquired.”
“Yes.”
“For how much?”
“That’s private.”
His face hardened.
“I’m your father.”
“You keep using that sentence when you want access to me.”
He looked wounded.
Part of me wanted to feel guilty.
Another part remembered my suitcase hitting the porch.
“Are you rich?”
There it was.
Not Are you happy?
Not Were you scared?
Not Why didn’t you tell us?
Are you rich?
I stepped backward.
“Goodnight, Dad.”
I drove home.
At 10:17 p.m., the security desk called.
“Ms. Mercer, you have visitors.”
“Who?”
“Daniel and Evelyn Mercer.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course.
Somehow they had found my address.
When I entered the penthouse elevator lobby minutes later, Mom stood frozen in front of the glass walls.
Dad looked even more stunned.
Neither spoke.
They walked inside slowly.
Mom stared at the city.
“This is yours?”
“Yes.”
Dad looked at the furniture, the art, the terrace.
“How much does this cost?”
I laughed once.
“You drove from New Jersey to ask the price of my apartment?”
“No.”
But his expression said otherwise.
Mom turned toward me.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Three weeks.”
“Since…”
“Since you threw me out.”
Her eyes filled with tears.
Dad looked away.
“You could have told us,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because we’re your family.”
“You didn’t ask what I wanted. You asked whether I would embarrass you by leaving medicine.”
“That degree meant security.”
“I already had security.”
“You let me believe you were throwing your life away.”
“You decided that before I finished the sentence.”
His face reddened.
“How much did you make?”
Mom whispered, “Daniel.”
“No. If we’re going to do this, I want the truth.”
I stared at him.
“Approximately forty-two and a half million dollars.”
Mom sat down.
Dad didn’t move.
The city shimmered behind him.
Forty-two and a half million.
The number seemed to erase every insult he had hurled at me.
Every warning.
Every lecture.
Every time he called my choices irresponsible.
“You’re worth forty-two million dollars?”
“Forty-two point five.”
He looked physically sick.
Then something worse happened.
His phone rang.
Peter.
Dad answered.
“What?”
I could hear shouting through the speaker.
Dad’s face drained of color.
“When?”
He listened.
Then lowered the phone.
“What happened?” Mom asked.
Dad looked at me.
“The bank moved the deadline.”
“To when?”
“Tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
His eyes went hollow.
“Because someone sent them evidence that we falsified financial statements.”
May you like
Peter had struck first.
And he had made sure my father looked like the criminal.
