Chapter 9 - MY UNCLE'S HOUSE

He opened the door before I rang.

'I wondered when you'd come.'

No denial.

No surprise.

I followed him into the library.

He poured himself whiskey.

I stayed standing.

'You moved money from Northstar into the family office.'

'Yes.'

'Money taken from workers.'

'Agency reserves.'

'Wages.'

He shrugged.

'Words matter less than contracts.'

I felt something in me go quiet.

'June Carter made less than half what our payroll records showed.'

Malcolm's face did not change.

'Then her agency terms were poor.'

'We are the agency.'

'Exactly.'

I stared at him.

This was not greed hiding behind fear.

This was belief.

He believed poor employees were simply another source of leverage.

'How much did you know?'

'Enough.'

'Did Owen work for you?'

'Owen worked for the company.'

'Natalie?'

'Same answer.'

I stepped closer.

'You watched people go hungry.'

He set down his glass.

'I watched this family survive payroll inflation, union pressure, regulatory swings, and your father's sentimental projects.'

'Sentimental? The reserve was supposed to help workers.'

'Your father changed his mind.'

That hurt more than I expected.

Then Malcolm smiled faintly.

'And before you climb onto a moral stage, remember who signed the restructuring package.'

Me.

He knew.

'You buried it in ninety pages.'

'I didn't bury anything. Your lawyers gave it to you.'

'You used my signature.'

'I used your attention span.'

For one second I wanted to put him through the bookshelf.

Instead, I took out my phone.

'Claire is listening.'

Malcolm's face finally changed.

Not fear.

Disappointment.

'You brought the state into family business.'

'You brought theft into it first.'

He laughed once.

Then he said, 'If you think this ends with me, ask Natalie what Cedar House is.'

I had never heard the name.

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But when I called Grace, she went silent.

'Cedar House,' she said slowly, 'is buying Blackwell debt.'