Chapter 7 - Arturo comes to the office
Arturo arrived at VGD at 1:15.
Rebecca had advised security:
Allow chairman access to conference room.
Not executive file areas pending internal review.
He saw the temporary access limitation and exploded.
“This is my company.”
I heard him from my office.
I walked into the hallway.
“No.”
He turned.
Cake had been cleaned from his beard.
His forehead? No injury from cake beyond dignity.
He wore another navy suit.
“What did you do?”
“Yesterday or today?”
“Don’t get cute.”
“Then specify.”
His face hardened.
“You cut off payments to your sister.”
“Yes.”
“You canceled the family trip.”
“Yes.”
“You embarrassed Lucía in front of thirty-seven people.”
“She tried to hit me.”
“You kicked her.”
“Yes.”
There.
I would not hide.
He pointed.
“And you assaulted me.”
“I shoved your face into cake.”
“You think that’s funny?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“It was retaliation. I should have walked away.”
He blinked.
He had expected justification.
I continued:
“Now explain AV Strategic.”
His face changed.
Small.
Enough.
“What about it?”
“$187,500.”
Silence.
Then:
“Consulting advance.”
“Authorized by whom?”
“The company.”
“Whose signature?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yours.”
“I never signed it.”
He stared.
Then:
“You sign a hundred things.”
“Not that.”
“You probably forgot.”
“No.”
“You’ve been under stress.”
There.
My father’s favorite move.
Turn disagreement into impairment.
I slid a printed copy across the conference table.
“Did you submit this to First Western?”
He looked.
“I submit lots of things.”
“Did you submit this?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Yesterday you remembered to pay a fifteen-year-old two hundred dollars to dump mud on my son.”
His eyes flashed.
“Sofia told you.”
“Yes.”
“It was supposed to be a joke.”
“Did you pay her?”
“She needed spending money.”
“For the prank?”
He stopped.
Then:
“Yes.”
Good.
One fact.
He leaned toward me.
“You’re turning everything into a criminal trial because your kid got dirty.”
I felt anger rise.
Rebecca sat beside me.
She touched a pen once.
Reminder.
Stay precise.
I said:
“No. The birthday and the company are separate. You made them meet by using company-derived money to fund family expenses and my signature appears on a consent I never executed.”
Arturo laughed.
“You think I need to steal from my own company?”
There.
Founder psychology.
I answered:
“You don’t own fifty-two percent.”
He stood.
“I built every cent you have.”
“And now you’re leaving.”
Security escorted him to the lobby.
May you like
No handcuffs.
No public scene beyond employees watching through glass and pretending not to.
