He went silent. When he spoke again, the son was gone from his voice and the executive was there. “You can’t suspend me over a family fight.” “I am not.”
“I am suspending you over an undisclosed related-party transaction.” “Sloan’s firm did actual work.” “Then she may submit evidence of actual work to the auditor.” “Mom, you’re blowing this up because of a cake.”
Eleanor stood so abruptly her chair rolled backward. “No, Harrison. The cake is why I finally stopped protecting you from the pattern.” The line went quiet.
She continued before he could answer. “Do not access the company network tonight. Your credentials will be paused. Do not contact Martin except through counsel.”
“Rebecca will send written notice within the hour.” “Counsel?” “Yes.” “You’re treating me like a criminal.”
“I am treating you like an officer of a company who may have violated his fiduciary duties.” He hung up on her. Eleanor stared at the phone after the call ended. That hurt more than she expected.
Not the hang-up itself. The fact that she had needed the vocabulary she once reserved for other people’s sons. Monday morning, Harrison arrived at Whitmore Residential Group anyway. His access card did not work.
Martin met him in the lobby with Rebecca and a human-resources director. Harrison stood outside the glass security doors for almost ten minutes before accepting that nobody was going to wave him through because of his last name. He had spent thirteen years working in that building, seven of them in senior management. Suddenly he was a visitor whose meeting required escort.