My father looked from Marcus to me.
“What is that?”
I opened the folder.
Marcus stood so suddenly his chair struck the floor.
“Where did you get those?”
The room went silent.
My mother whispered his name.
“Marcus.”
But the damage was already done.
He had recognized documents he supposedly knew nothing about.
Adrian’s old hands remained folded over the silver cane.
My father stared at his son.
“What does she have?”
Marcus pointed at me.
“She stole company records.”
I felt something inside me settle.
For years, Marcus had survived by making me explain myself while he attacked.
This time, I let him continue.
“She had no authority to keep those,” he said.
“Anything she has is incomplete.
She doesn’t understand the accounts.”
I turned one page.
“Then explain this transfer.”
He stopped.
I read the date and amount.
My father’s face changed.
Marcus tried another approach.
“That was legitimate consulting.”
“There was no consultant.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I have the corresponding authorization.”
His eyes widened.
“And the duplicate invoice,” I added.
“And the internal instruction telling me which description to use when reconciling it.”
My mother slowly lowered her glass.
My father looked as though the room had become too small.
Adrian finally spoke.
“You told me your company’s books were clean.”
“They are,” my father snapped.
“Then your daughter should have nothing dangerous in that folder.”
My father turned on me.
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
It was a tiny word.
I had never seen it frighten him before.
He stood.
“I said give me the folder.”
Adrian’s cane struck the floor once.
Not loudly.
It was enough.
My father looked at him.
Adrian’s voice remained weak and elderly.
“I suggest you sit down.”
My father did.
Then Adrian began asking questions.
Not accusations.
