“Good.”
Then Dad said something I didn’t understand until later.
“Because the card’s the small one, Elena. I need to see your company’s accounts tonight. Not the cards. The wires.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“I’ve got a feeling, and my feelings cost the government forty years of other people’s prison sentences, so humor me.”
I nodded.
And we drove to my office.
At 6:30 that evening, Dad sat across from me in the conference room at Rossi Design Group.
I’d asked my chief financial officer, Rebecca Morgan, to join us.
Rebecca had worked with me for seven years.
She was meticulous, experienced, and fiercely protective of the company.
When I explained Dad’s concerns, she frowned.
“Brandon never had authority to initiate company transfers.”
Dad nodded.
“That’s good.”
Then he asked:
“Did he have relationships with your vendors?”
Rebecca hesitated.
“Some.”
“Did he ever recommend suppliers?”
“Occasionally.”
Dad leaned forward.
“And were those suppliers independently verified?”
