Both owned through related entities.
Graham stared at the screen.
“She’s been taking money for years.”
I looked at him.
“No.”
Something wasn’t right.
The transfers were too obvious.
Too organized.
My mother cared deeply about appearances.
But she wasn’t stupid.
If she had simply been stealing money, why leave such a clear trail?
Lucia must have had the same thought.
She narrowed her eyes.
“Maybe she wasn’t stealing it.”
“What else would you call this?”
She looked at Daniel.
“A transfer.”
“To what?”
Lucia turned back to me.
“Someone else.”
Dad came to my house that night.
He looked exhausted.
I almost didn’t let him in.
Then I stepped aside.
He sat at my kitchen table, the same table I had bought secondhand when I opened Wardline because nearly every dollar I earned then went back into the business.
Dad ran his hand over the wood.
“I remember this.”
“You helped me carry it upstairs.”
He smiled faintly.
“You refused to let me buy you a new one.”
“I didn’t need a new one.”
“No.
You rarely needed what I wanted to give you.”
I sat opposite him.
“Did you know about Mom’s consulting company?”
His face changed.
“Yes.”
That surprised me.
“You knew?”
“I approved the payments.”
“Why?”
He stared at the tabletop.
“Because they weren’t hers.”
I felt a chill.
“What does that mean?”
He took a long breath.
“Twenty-eight years ago, before Ward Catering became successful, I had a partner.”
I had never heard this.
“Who?”
“Samuel Reed.”
The name meant nothing.
“He invested when no bank would lend to me.
We were young.
Stupid.
Ambitious.”
“What happened?”
“He died.”
“How?”
“Car accident.”
Dad looked toward the window.
“His wife was pregnant.”
I waited.
“I promised Samuel’s widow that if the company ever became profitable, I would repay his investment and make sure his child benefited from what he helped build.”
“So the transfers—”
“Were part of an arrangement.”
“With whom?”
Dad’s face tightened.
“Vivian.”
I stared at him.
“Mom handled it?”
“Yes.”
“Why secretly?”
“Because Samuel’s widow wanted privacy.”
“Why?”
Dad didn’t answer.
And suddenly I knew.
Not the details.
But I knew the answer would hurt.
“Who was she?”
Dad closed his eyes.
Then he said a name.
“Elaine Torres.”
My entire body went cold.
Torres.
Lucia Torres.
“No.”
Dad nodded.
“Lucia is Samuel’s daughter.”
I stood so quickly my chair scraped backward.
“No.”
“Nora—”
“You’re telling me Lucia’s father helped start Ward Catering?”
“Yes.”
“And she never told me?”
“I don’t know what she knows.”
I was already reaching for my phone.
Dad stood.
“There’s more.”
I looked at him.
His eyes filled with something close to shame.
“Samuel wasn’t just my partner.”
I waited.
Dad whispered:
“He was Vivian’s first husband.”
The room disappeared.
“What?”
“They married young.
Quietly.
The marriage lasted less than two years.
They were already separated when I met her.”
I stared at him.
“Mom was married before you?”
“Yes.”
“And Lucia’s father—”
“Was that man.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“Then Lucia is…”
“No.”
Dad said it too quickly.
I looked at him.
“What?”
“She isn’t Vivian’s daughter.”
For a moment, relief came.
Then Dad continued.
“Samuel remarried after he and Vivian divorced.
Elaine was his second wife.”
I sat down again.
My hands were trembling.
“So Mom has been moving money from your company to her former husband’s daughter?”
“Not exactly.”
“Dad, start making sense.”
His voice cracked.
“Samuel’s original investment agreement gave his estate twenty-five percent of the company if certain growth targets were reached.”
My mouth fell open.
“And were they?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Twenty-two years ago.”
“So Lucia’s family owns a quarter of Ward Catering?”
“Legally?”
He looked miserable.
“They may own more.”
I stared.
“How much more?”
Dad whispered:
“Fifty-one percent.”
The next morning, Lucia was sitting in my office when I arrived.
I stopped in the doorway.
She looked tired.
“You know,” I said.
She didn’t pretend otherwise.
“Yes.”
I shut the door.
“How long?”
“Since I was twenty-four.”
“You’ve been my friend for eight years.”
“Yes.”
“You’ve handled my books.”
“Yes.”
“You helped me buy the building Dad operates from.”
“Yes.”
Each answer hurt more.
“Was any of it an accident?”
Her eyes filled.
“Meeting you was.”
“Everything after?”
She stood.
“Nora, I swear to you, I became your friend because I liked you.”
“Did you know who I was when you hired me at that restaurant?”
“No.”
“When did you find out?”
“About six months later.”
“And you said nothing.”
“My mother made me promise.”
“Why?”
Lucia looked away.
“Because she was dying.”
I stopped.
Lucia had told me her mother died seven years earlier from cancer.
“She spent most of her life avoiding the Wards,” Lucia continued.
“She hated what happened after my father died.”
“What happened?”
