Sophie standing in the cold.
The audit.
Robert listened without interrupting.
When I finished, he remained silent long enough that I checked the call.
Then he said, “Okay.”
A pause.
“Here’s what we do.”
He walked through everything calmly.
First, he wanted the divorce filing handled through proper family-court channels, including the ownership structure of the house.
The house Clare had called hers was titled to one of my LLCs. Her name was not on the deed.
Robert said any possession or property questions would go lawyer to lawyer. No dramatic lock changes. No midnight removal of belongings. No confrontation.
Second, the fourteen employee files showing potential misconduct would go through HR and legal review.
David and Marcus’s records were serious enough that Robert recommended preserving everything for possible referral to authorities.
A forensic accountant, Patricia Huang, would examine the financial documentation.
Third, Robert made one instruction absolutely clear.
“Nothing public.”
“I know.”
“No social media. No family group-chat war. No revenge posts.”
“Robert.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
“You want consequences,” he said. “Use the channels built for consequences.”
I leaned back in the terrible hotel chair.
“I want justice.”
“Then don’t contaminate it with theater.”
I slept for about three hours.
The next morning, I put on the navy suit I kept at the office for investor meetings and drove to our headquarters on Harrington Drive.
I reached my corner office around 8:30.
The city looked cold and ordinary through the glass.
At 8:58, Patricia Huang confirmed that the audit materials had been received and secured for forensic review.
At 9:00, my HR director, James Okonquo, began processing the employment actions.
James had spent hours making sure every letter was supported by company policy and documentation.
At 9:05, my phone rang.
Martin Collins.
I watched his name for two rings.
Then answered.
“Daniel.”
He sounded furious.
“Some complete idiot sent termination letters to half the family this morning.”
I said nothing.
“I don’t know what kind of HR circus you people are running over there, but you need to get me your supervisor’s number so I can straighten this out.”
I let the silence sit.
Four seconds.
“You’re already speaking to him, Martin.”
Nothing.
Not even breathing.
“Whitaker Home Solutions,” I said. “Whitaker. As in Daniel Whitaker.”
Another silence.
“Founder. Sole owner. Chief executive officer.”