I did not sign anything. Instead, I photographed page thirty-eight, the blank confession, and every signature page before sliding the contract back across the table. Then I called my general counsel. Bianca’s face changed when I used his full name. Northstar Crest had recently reviewed a financing proposal involving Lumière Rose, and I suddenly understood why parts of the agreement looked familiar.
Within an hour, my attorney confirmed the problem. Lumière Rose was facing questions over several questionable transfers authorized after Bianca became CEO. The “assistant agreement” would have given me broad delegated authority dated close enough to those transactions that someone could later argue I had participated in financial decisions. The missing sixty thousand dollars was not sitting in my account. Preliminary records pointed toward payments connected to a company controlled by Lucas.
Dad stopped threatening to call the police when my attorney offered to contact investigators himself. Lucas finally admitted he had moved money from Bianca’s personal account because several business expenses were about to be exposed and he thought he could replace it after Christmas. Bianca insisted she knew nothing about his actions, but the contract bearing her approval made that claim something professionals would have to examine rather than something our family could settle over prime rib.
I left before midnight. The next morning, Northstar Crest’s compliance team formally withdrew from considering any investment involving Lumière Rose until an independent review was completed. My parents learned about my company only when Bianca’s board contacted my office and asked to speak with its founder. Dad later called and said he wished I had told them who I really was. I told him I had been the same person at dinner before the card cleared. The only thing that changed was that my money finally became visible to people who had never bothered to see me without it.
