Chapter 11 - The Price of the Bellacorte Name)
The board met at nine.
Richard attended from the lodge by video.
Noah was upstairs with Martha and Sarah Mitchell, the child advocate.
Daniel sat beside Richard.
On the screen appeared nine directors.
Mark occupied a conference room at Bellacorte Western headquarters.
He looked exhausted but defiant.
Richard began without ceremony.
"We have two separate matters."
Mark interrupted.
"No. We have one."
Richard waited.
"This is a power grab."
A director named Helen Foster frowned.
"Mark, let him speak."
Mark ignored her.
"My father has decided he wants control of my son and my division."
Richard's expression did not change.
"The custody case is not board business."
"You made it board business when your attorney started digging through company accounts."
Daniel spoke.
"We investigated company accounts because Bellacorte Western received funds obtained from Noah Bellacorte's trust."
Several directors shifted.
Mark leaned toward his camera.
"Short term financing."
"Unauthorized financing," Daniel said.
"Temporary liquidity."
"Collateralized by a child's assets."
Mark slammed one palm against the table.
"We were three weeks from closing the Summit contract."
Helen interrupted.
"Did the board approve the financing?"
Mark looked at her.
"No."
"Did Richard approve it as co trustee?"
Silence.
Helen's face changed.
"Mark."
Richard spoke.
"Answer her."
Mark stared into the camera.
"No."
Another director removed his glasses.
"You forged the authorization?"
Mark looked toward his attorney.
The attorney whispered.
Mark refused to answer.
Richard leaned back.
There it was.
For decades, the Bellacorte company had survived because Richard demanded certainty.
Numbers.
Controls.
Accountability.
Yet his own son had learned a darker version.
Results first.
Rules later.
Win at any cost.
Richard suddenly hated how familiar it sounded.
Helen looked toward Richard.
"What do you recommend?"
Every director expected the obvious answer.
Fire Mark.
Take control.
Protect the company.
Richard surprised them.
"Independent forensic audit."
Mark laughed.
"Of course."
Richard continued.
"Of my division too."
The room went silent.
Helen frowned.
"Your division?"
"The entire company."
Daniel looked at Richard.
This had not been discussed.
Richard continued.
"If Mark learned that hiding losses was normal inside this company, I want to know where he learned it."
Mark stared.
Richard looked into the camera.
"That includes decisions made by me."
One director objected.
"Richard, opening every historical record could create exposure we don't need."
Richard's eyes narrowed.
"We already have exposure."
"We can contain this."
Richard almost smiled.
Contain.
The Bellacorte family had spent years containing everything.
Pain.
Mistakes.
Secrets.
Children.
"No."
He shook his head.
"We stop containing."
By noon, Mark had been suspended.
Not fired.
Suspended pending investigation.
His access to accounts was frozen.
His company devices were surrendered.
The announcement caused the Bellacorte stock to fall nine percent before markets closed.
Richard lost more money on paper that day than most people earned in several lifetimes.
He barely noticed.
At four, he was in the lodge workshop.
Noah sat beside him.
The wooden airplane lay between them.
Richard had gathered glue, clamps, and sandpaper.
Noah touched the cracked wing.
"Can you really fix it?"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"I don't."
Noah frowned.
Richard smiled.
"But that's never stopped me before."
They removed the old tape.
Richard showed Noah how to apply a tiny amount of wood glue.
"Not too much."
Noah squeezed.
Far too much came out.
He froze.
Richard saw the panic instantly.
The boy looked at the spill.
Then at his grandfather.
"I'm sorry."
Richard stared at him.
Nothing had broken.
Nothing important.
But Noah's body had already prepared for punishment.
Richard deliberately dipped one finger into the glue.
He put a white dot on Noah's nose.
Noah blinked.
Richard put another dot on his own nose.
Noah stared.
Then laughed.
The sound filled the workshop.
Richard had never heard anything more valuable.
"Too much glue," Richard said.
Noah giggled.
"Are we in trouble?"
"Terrible trouble."
"What happens?"
"We clean it."
"That's all?"
"That's all."
Noah looked confused again.
Richard handed him a rag.
"Mistakes get fixed. They don't make you bad."
Noah wiped the glue.
They worked for nearly an hour.
When the wing was clamped, Noah leaned against Richard.
"Grandpa."
"Yes?"
"Did Dad make mistakes?"
Richard looked at the airplane.
"Yes."
"Can he fix them?"
Richard thought carefully.
"He can try."
"Will everything go back?"
"No."
Noah was quiet.
"Sometimes fixing something doesn't mean making it exactly how it was."
He pointed toward the airplane.
"When this wing dries, you'll still see the crack."
Noah touched it.
"Is that bad?"
"No."
"It'll still fly?"
Richard smiled.
"This one never flew very well."
Noah laughed.
Richard continued.
"It can still be something worth keeping."
Noah considered.
Then he whispered.
"I want Mom to be nice again."
Richard's chest tightened.
Again.
The word mattered.
There had been good days.
Pancakes.
Bedtime stories.
Maybe Claudia had not always been what she became.
Richard did not know.
"Then she has work to do."
"Can I help?"
"No."
Noah looked up.
"Why?"
"Because grown ups have to fix their own mistakes."
Noah absorbed that.
A phone rang upstairs.
Martha answered.
Seconds later, footsteps rushed toward the workshop.
"Richard."
He looked up.
Martha stood in the doorway holding the phone.
Her face was pale.
"It's the police."
Richard rose.
"About Mark?"
Martha shook her head.
"About Claudia."
Noah looked between them.
Richard's heart sank.
"What happened?"
Martha swallowed.
"She went back to the house."
May you like
Richard waited.
"And she found something in the mudroom wall."
