Part 3: Thirty-Five Percent
Grant bolted out of the hospital.
When he reached the house in Greenwich, a van was parked out front.
One woman held a clipboard while another carried a small suitcase.
Doreen stood by the door.
Ruby was sobbing, clinging to the doorframe.
“I don’t want to go! I want to stay with Daddy!”
“Nobody is taking my daughter!” Grant shouted.
Whitney turned with unnerving calm.
“Grant, you need to think clearly. Ruby needs specialized care, and you can’t walk out on the company every time she has a crisis.”
She held out an authorization form.
The signature was genuine.
Grant remembered a folder of documents Whitney had placed in front of him weeks earlier.
He had signed several pages without reading them carefully.
The program representative, hearing the father’s explicit objection, ordered the departure stopped.
“We can’t proceed under these circumstances,” she said. “The application will have to be reviewed.”
The van drove off.
Ruby ran to Tessa and held on tight.
“I knew you’d come back.”
Tessa knelt and hugged her.
Then she took out the locket.
“This was your mommy’s. She asked me to give it to you.”
The girl recognized the engraved moon.
When she opened it, she found a tiny photograph of Caroline holding her as a baby.
Ruby kissed the picture.
“Mommy used to say I was her little moon.”
Grant knelt beside them.
“And you always will be, sweetheart.”
Whitney watched the scene with growing irritation.
“How touching. An employee accused of theft turns up with the missing jewelry, and now we’re all supposed to believe she’s a saint.”
Grant rose to his feet.
“I’ve seen the complaint, Whitney. It has your name on it.”
“I was trying to protect your family.”
“You also answered my phone that night.”
For the first time, Whitney lost her composure.
“We were closing a hugely important deal. I thought Caroline was calling again to ask when you’d be home. I didn’t know she was in the hospital.”
Grant stared at her, horrified.
“My wife died trying to talk to me. And you decided her call wasn’t important.”
“I won’t let you blame me for an accident.”
“I don’t blame you for the accident. I blame you for what you did afterward.”
Whitney grabbed her purse.
Before leaving, she delivered one last warning:
“Remember, I own thirty-five percent of your company. And there are documents you signed that you don’t even remember.”
When her car vanished down the drive, Grant dialed the number the anonymous text had come from.
A phone began to ring.
It was in Doreen’s pocket.
The housekeeper turned pale.
She ended up confessing that Whitney had told her to photograph Ruby sleeping on the floor and send that message.
In exchange, Whitney had promised her a house when she retired.
“I thought Tessa was taking advantage of the girl,” she sobbed.
“No,” Grant answered. “You saw how she cared for her, and you chose to stay quiet.”
Doreen admitted there was more.
Weeks before the accident, Caroline had come across documents about her family’s stake in the company.
She had learned that Whitney was trying to gain authority to manage, on Ruby’s behalf, the shares inherited from Caroline’s father.
Caroline had put together a folder of copies.
She left the house that afternoon to warn Grant in person, because she couldn’t reach him.
After the funeral, Whitney had asked Doreen to find the folder.
Doreen found it, but never handed it over.
“It’s in Mrs. Caroline’s old bedroom. In a box on top of the closet.”
Grant went upstairs with Tessa.
He hadn’t set foot in that room since the burial.
On the nightstand, a storybook still lay open.
Over a chair hung one of Caroline’s cardigans.
These everyday objects made him realize how long he had been running from the memory of his wife.
He found the box.
Inside were printed emails, draft powers of attorney, and correspondence between Whitney and a company lawyer.
On their own they weren’t enough to prove every crime Grant suspected, but they justified an investigation.
Among the papers was a letter written by Caroline.
“Grant, our daughter doesn’t need another bedroom or more gifts. She asks for you every night. I know you work to give us a future, but I’m afraid that by the time you want to enjoy it, Ruby will have already learned to live without waiting for you.”
Further down was another line:
“If something ever happens to me, don’t let anyone decide for our daughter by putting our money first.”
Grant let the letter slip from his fingers.
Tessa stayed beside him, not trying to console him with easy words.
That same night, Grant did something Ruby had never seen him do.
He turned off his phone.
He took off his shoes.
And he lay down on the rug beside his daughter.
“Are you going to sleep here, Daddy?” Ruby asked.
“If you’ll let me.”
“And tomorrow, will you leave?”
Grant looked at Tessa.
“Tomorrow I’ll have breakfast with you. Then we’ll go to the park.”
The girl took his hand.
“Then you can stay.”
But the next morning, an urgent summons arrived from the company’s board of directors.
Whitney had called an emergency meeting.
In front of the board, she accused Grant of neglecting his professional duties and of being swayed by a caregiver with a questionable work history.
She even projected photographs of Ruby sleeping on the floor.
Grant presented Caroline’s documents, requested an independent audit, and asked outside attorneys to review the powers of attorney relating to his daughter’s shares.
Several board members agreed to investigate, but a majority voted to suspend him from his executive duties while the irregularities were sorted out.
Grant walked out of that meeting without an office.
And when he got home, he found even worse news.
