The Weight of Knowing
The silence after Debra laid out the documents was not empty-it was dense, humming with disbelief and the slow, painful process of comprehension.
Her father stared at the papers, his fingers trembling slightly as he traced the signature that bore his name. Her mother sat rigid, one hand clutching the armrest, the other pressed to her lips as if holding back a scream.
"This… this is fraud," her father finally said, voice hoarse. "And he used me."
Debra nodded, her throat tight. "I didn't want to believe it either. But the dates, the transfers… it's all here."
Her mother leaned forward, scanning the documents again. "Why would he do this? Why now?"
Her father didn't answer. He stood, walked to the window, and stared out at the garden—the same one he and his brother had planted together years ago. "He always said family was everything."
Debra stepped closer. "That's why I didn't go to the police. Not yet. I wanted you to see it first. To decide together."
Her father turned, eyes glassy but sharp. "We need to be careful. If this leaks before we understand the full scope, it could ruin us. Our name. Our business."
Her mother, ever the strategist beneath her warmth, was already thinking ahead. "We need a lawyer. Someone discreet. And we need to find out who else knows. If there's a whistleblower, there may be more."
They spent the next hour in quiet planning. Her father made a list-trusted contacts, financial records to audit, old emails to revisit. Her mother drafted a message to a friend in legal circles, coded and cautious.
Debra watched them, a strange mix of guilt and relief swirling in her chest. She hadn't wanted to be the one to break the illusion,especially since she's doing all this just because she doesn't want to end up with Clarissa. But now that it was shattered, she saw something else in her parents-resolve.
Before bed, her father Mr Harrison came to her room. He sat on the edge of her bed, the way he used to when she was little and afraid of thunderstorms.
"You did the right thing," he said quietly. "Even if it hurts, I really trusted him he has been my friend for years ."
She nodded, tears threatening. "I just didn't want you to be blindsided, we've worked so hard to establish Tech haven ."
He smiled faintly. "You protected us. Now it's our turn to protect you."
And as he left, Debra felt the shift-not just in the family, but in herself. She wasn't just the daughter anymore. She was part of the shield, the protection ain't bad but her being treated like a girl is what she did not want..
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The next morning...
The morning light filtered through the kitchen blinds in soft, slanted lines. Debra sat at the table, her hands wrapped around a mug that had long gone cold. Her parents were across from her-her mother still in her robe, her father freshly shaven but not yet dressed for the day. No one had touched the toast.
"I think we need to talk about what comes next," Debra said gently, not pushing, just placing the thought in the room like a stone on still water.
Her father Mr Harrison nodded slowly. "We do."
There was a pause. Not awkward- just careful. Her mother reached for the folder again, flipping through the pages as if they might read differently in daylight.
"I don't want to go to the police yet," Debra said. "Not because I'm afraid. But because I think we need to understand the full picture first. Quietly."
Her father looked at her, eyes steady. "You're right. If we go in blind, we risk dragging innocent people down with him. Or worse—alerting him before we're ready."
Her mother closed the folder. "We need someone who can help us trace the money. Someone who understands how these things are hidden."
"I thought about that," Debra said. "Mr. Fynn-the investigator-I trust him. He's already found more than I could have on my own. But I think we should bring in a lawyer too. Someone who can protect us if this turns."
Her father exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "I know someone. Quiet, discreet. I'll reach out today."
They sat with that for a moment. The plan was forming—not rushed, not panicked. Just deliberate. Like laying bricks.
"I'll keep acting normal," Debra added. "If he calls, I'll answer. If he asks questions, I'll play along. But I won't give him anything."
Her mother gave a small, sad smile. "You shouldn't have to carry this."
"I'm not," Debra said. "Not alone."
Her father reached across the table, placing his hand over hers. "We'll handle this together. No sudden moves. No noise. Just truth, one step at a time."
Debra gave a faint smile. She knew her father was proud, he wants her to leave her art and focus more on the company but Deb feels more motivated to help out at the company as long as she has her art studio...