Chapter 7 - HARLAN’S CHOICE
The red-eye flight back to Dallas-Fort Worth landed at 8:40 PM.
While the rest of the crew headed home, I took an Uber directly to the headquarters of Bellamy Ridge Construction in Arlington.
The two-story brick building was usually dark at night, but tonight, every light on the second floor was blazing.
I walked through the glass front doors and took the stairs up to the executive suite. The air inside smelled of stale coffee and old leather.
Inside the corner office, seventy-two-year-old Harlan Bellamy sat behind his massive oak desk. His face looked carved out of weathered granite. Beside him stood Arthur Vance, the company’s chief financial officer, surrounded by stacks of paper binders and laptop screens displaying financial ledgers.
When Harlan saw me open the door, he stood up slowly.
The old man’s shoulders were stooped, and his eyes were rimmed with red. He walked around the desk, opened his arms, and pulled me into a tight, crushing hug.
“Elena,” Harlan rasped, his voice trembling with old age and deep sorrow. “I am so sorry, girl. I am so, so sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Harlan,” I whispered, resting my head against his shoulder.
“It is my fault,” the old man said, stepping back and wiping his eyes with a handkerchief. “I raised him. I gave him everything. I gave him authority, I gave him a title, and he used it to steal from this family and betray the best woman I’ve ever known.”
Arthur Vance cleared his throat, stepping forward with a thick black folder. “Elena, we’ve been running the numbers since your email arrived at 2:30 PM. It’s worse than we initially thought.”
I sat down in one of the leather armchairs. “How bad?”
“Over the past two years, Warren siphoned approximately $680,000 out of corporate accounts,” Arthur said, placing a spreadsheet in front of me. “Wire transfers to shell accounts, inflated vendor invoices, fraudulent travel vouchers, and direct credit purchases for luxury goods.”
I stared at the numbers. $680,000.
“It’s grand larceny, bank fraud, and tax fraud,” Arthur continued grimly. “Because Bellamy Ridge receives municipal construction contracts, this crosses into federal jurisdiction. If we report this to the authorities, Warren is facing five to ten years in federal prison.”
Silence hung heavy in the office.
Harlan walked over to the window, looking out at the dark parking lot below. His hands were clasped behind his back, shaking slightly.
“Harlan?” I asked softly. “What do you want to do?”
The old man turned around slowly. He looked twenty years older than he had that morning.
“When my father started this company with one pickup truck, he taught me that a man’s name is all he has,” Harlan said, his voice dropping into a deep, gravelly tone. “Warren dragged the Bellamy name through the dirt. He tried to ruin the woman who saved this business when we were bankrupt.”
Harlan walked back to his desk, picked up a pen, and signed his name at the bottom of a legal document.
“Arthur,” Harlan said, stepping back. “Call the District Attorney’s office. File the criminal charges tonight.”
Arthur nodded, picked up his phone, and stepped out of the office.
Harlan sat down across from me, taking my hands in his rough, calloused palms.
“Elena,” Harlan said softly. “You own eight percent of this company. But starting tomorrow morning, I am calling an emergency board meeting. I am stripping Warren of his shares and transferring his twenty-two percent equity directly to you.”
I gasped. “Harlan, no! I can’t take that—”
“You will take it,” the old man insisted, his eyes blazing with absolute conviction. “You paid for this company with your hard work and your grandmother’s land. You are a thirty-percent owner of Bellamy Ridge Construction now. And tomorrow, the board is going to vote you in as the Vice President of Board Operations.”
I sat back in my chair, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes.
May you like
For eighteen years, I had believed my value was tied to being Warren’s wife. I had bent myself into a hundred different shapes to fit into his world, to support his ambitions, while he slowly erased me.
Now, sitting in his father’s office, the truth was finally clear: I had never needed Warren. He had needed me.
