My father, Richard Whitmore, summoned our entire bloodline to Thanksgiving dinner under the theatrical illusion that we were a harmonious clan whose smiles around the mahogany table were genuine.

Logan scrambled to pick up the broken glass, his hands trembling violently. "It... it was an old issue, Mr. Hayes. Emma admitted to taking it back when she was eighteen. She paid it back through her wages!"

"Did she?" Alexander asked, pulling a sleek tablet from his briefcase and tapping the screen twice.

He slid the tablet toward my father. On the screen was a detailed bank audit from 2019, complete with IP addresses, offshore wire transfers, and wire signatures.

"I had my forensic accounting team review Whitmore Enterprises' historical ledgers last week as part of my due diligence," Alexander said calmly. "It took my team four hours to trace the missing fifty thousand dollars. The money didn't go to Emma's account. It was wired directly to an online sports betting offshore account registered under Logan Whitmore's social security number."

My mother gasped, dropping her linen napkin. "Logan?"

"Dad, it's a lie!" Logan stammered, his face turning bright red. "He's making it up to humiliate us!"

"I don't make things up, Logan," Alexander said coldly. "And I certainly don't lie for fun. Your parents framed your sister, stole her college fund, and used her as a scapegoat to protect your gambling addiction so you could keep your title as Vice President."

My father stared at the screen, the cold, undeniable numbers staring back at him. He looked up at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "Emma... I... we thought..."

"You didn't think, Dad," I finally spoke up, my voice remarkably steady. "You knew. Mom knew too. It was easier to blame the daughter who didn't fight back than to admit your precious son was ruining the family name."

Vanessa looked at Logan in disgust, taking a step away from him. "Logan, you took her college money? You let her work night shifts at a diner for three years?"

"Shut up, Vanessa!" Logan snapped, his composure completely crumbling. "You didn't care either! You let her clean your apartment for free!"

"Enough!" Alexander’s voice cut through the room like a thunderclap.

Everyone stopped shouting instantly.

Alexander took the leather folder from the counter and tucked it back under his arm. "Here are my terms, Richard. The contract for Whitmore Enterprises stays unsigned. In fact, my firm is shorting your stock at market open on Monday morning. By noon, your company will be bankrupt."