CHAPTER 3 — THE LUNCH BILL
Jasper attempted to stop the tow truck by standing in front of it.
The driver didn’t argue.
He simply showed Jasper the registration.
The SUV had always belonged to the Hailey Robertson Family Trust.
Jasper’s name appeared nowhere on the title.
“You can’t take it,” Gillian protested. “My son has used that vehicle for years.”
“Using something doesn’t make you the owner,” the driver replied.
Priscilla folded her arms.
“This is ridiculous. Hailey is having some hormonal breakdown.”
Jasper pulled out his phone and called me again.
By then, I was already inside Robertson Medical Center.
The specialist had discovered that several of my stitches were badly strained. I was dehydrated, my blood pressure was unstable, and the incision showed early signs of infection.
The doctor didn’t say the bus ride had caused everything.
He didn’t need to.
Had I remained on that bus much longer, the damage could have become far more serious.
Jasper left another voicemail.
“You’re embarrassing me, Hailey. Call me before this gets worse.”
My father listened from the chair beside my bed.
He didn’t react until Jasper’s next message arrived.
“You’ve made your point. Tell your father to stop interfering with my company.”
Dad held out his hand.
I gave him the phone.
He replayed both messages, then forwarded them to my attorney.
“He hasn’t asked about you,” Dad said.
“No.”
“He hasn’t asked about Toby.”
“No.”
My father’s jaw tightened.
Across town, Jasper returned to the restaurant and demanded the bill.
He planned to order a car, take his family home, and resolve the situation before his board meeting.
The waiter placed the leather folder in front of him.
Jasper inserted his black corporate card.
It was declined.
He tried another.
Declined.
A third card was rejected before the waiter quietly suggested another form of payment.
People at nearby tables had begun watching.
Gillian leaned toward her son.
“What is happening?”
“Bank error.”
It wasn’t a bank error.
Robertson Capital had guaranteed several corporate accounts because Jasper’s company had not yet achieved stable profitability.
The guarantees had been suspended pending investigation.
His personal cards were still functional, but their limits were much lower than he had allowed his family to believe.
The lunch bill was more than three thousand dollars.
Priscilla finally paid using her own card.
Her smile disappeared when the receipt arrived.
At exactly four o’clock, Jasper joined the emergency board meeting from the restaurant’s private office.
Six directors appeared on the screen.
Two attorneys sat behind them.
The chairman spoke first.
“Mr. Whitmore, Robertson Capital has raised concerns regarding the accuracy of the information provided during the last funding round.”
“There are no inaccuracies.”
“That remains to be determined.”
“You can’t suspend me from my own company.”
One of the attorneys looked directly into the camera.
“According to the voting agreement, you hold eighteen percent of the company.”
Jasper’s face changed.
“I’m the founder.”
“You’re a founder,” the attorney corrected. “You are not the controlling shareholder.”
Documents appeared on the screen.
Robertson Capital held thirty-seven percent.
A second investment partnership connected to my family held fourteen percent.
Together, they controlled fifty-one percent of Jasper’s company.
Jasper stared at the figures.
He had signed every agreement.
He simply hadn’t read them carefully enough to understand who stood behind the investment entities.
“Who authorized this review?” he demanded.
The chairman didn’t hesitate.
“Hailey Robertson.”
The name fell through the room like a blade.
Then another document appeared.
It contained a copy of my signature on a twelve-million-dollar loan guarantee.
There was only one problem.
I had never signed it.
The chairman leaned closer to the screen.
“Mr. Whitmore, before this meeting continues, perhaps you should explain why your wife’s signature appears on a document she says she has never seen.”
May you like
Jasper went completely still.
And for the first time, I realized abandoning me at the hospital might not be the worst thing my husband had done.
