I’m worried about all these papers Chloe has us signing, he had written.
My mother’s reply: Don’t be silly. She’s the one with the business sense. It’s better if we just trust her and don’t ask too many questions.
They weren’t just victims. They were willing accomplices to their own destruction.
Their final call to me wasn’t about giving Chloe a leg up. It was a desperate, last-ditch effort to get me to unknowingly cover the payments on a fraudulent loan before the entire house of cards collapsed.
The next day, they came to my office.
The sleek glass doors of the downtown Minneapolis firm slid open, and the three of them, my father, my mother, and Chloe, marched in as if they owned the place.
The open-plan office fell silent. Every head turned. They walked directly to my desk.
My father spoke first, his voice low and tight with rage. “You will stop this nonsense right now, Evelyn. You are humiliating this family.”
Chloe stood behind him, arms crossed, her face a mask of smug indignation.
“People are calling me crying,” my mother added, her voice trembling for effect. “They can’t believe what you’ve done to us.”
I leaned back in my chair, my expression calm. I let the silence hang in the air, letting my colleagues absorb the scene.
Finally, I spoke. My voice was quiet, but it carried across the still room.