Chapter Twenty-Five
LUKE
The moment I stepped through the front door, I knew something was off.
It was too quiet. Not empty—the King house was never empty.
A phone rang, but my brother, dad, or even Lorne, if he was there, was always having a conversation behind a closed door about contracts, acquisitions, or the next move the company planned to make.
But that night, especially after what we’d found in the storage unit, the quiet felt strained.
My hockey bag dropped beside the back entry bench with a dull thud. I glanced down the hall. The light in Dad’s study burned through the crack beneath the door.
I headed down the hallway. Before I reached the study, raised voices carried into the hall. Dad’s came first—sharp and controlled in the way it always did when he was angry but refusing to show it.
“You assured me this was contained.”
“I assured you the structure was protected,” Lorne shot back, his tone carrying none of Dad’s restraint. “I didn’t assure you no one would start asking questions.”
I slowed automatically. Years in this house had taught me when to step forward and when to stay out of sight.
The study door sat slightly open, not enough to see clearly but more than enough to hear. I stopped in the shadow where the hallway turned toward the stairs.
Dad moved somewhere inside the room. I caught the scrape of his chair against the floor—the sound loud enough that I could picture the look he reserved for Lorne when his patience ran thin.
“This should never have surfaced,” he continued. “The transfers were protected.”
“They were until someone started digging,” Lorne snapped.
“Questions are circulating in places they shouldn’t exist.”
My shoulders tensed. Transfers. That word had surfaced too many times in recent conversations to ignore.
“No one inside King Enterprises is careless enough to expose this,” Dad growled.
“Then where is the pressure coming from?” Lorne demanded. “Because someone is asking the right questions.”
Silence stretched across the room.
“Raising your voices will not resolve the situation,” Drew began evenly.
I hadn’t realized he was in there. His calm tone changed the energy immediately. The silence that followed told me both of them were looking at him now.
“The problem we’re facing is exposure,” Drew continued, “not blame.”
Dad didn’t respond right away. I leaned slightly closer to the door.
“We need to narrow access to the financial records immediately,” Drew went on. “No one outside senior leadership reviews the offshore structures until we determine where these questions originated.”
Dad answered this time, his voice lower. “You’re assuming someone outside the company has access.”
“I’m assuming someone believes they do,” Drew replied.
The distinction hung in the air. Glass clinked somewhere inside the room. Lorne must have poured himself another drink.
“You’re treating this too lightly,” Lorne muttered. “If this reaches the board—”
“It won’t.” Drew’s voice cut through the room without raising.
I felt my stomach tighten.
Dad didn’t answer immediately. “That depends on how quickly we contain it,” he replied finally.
Drew didn’t hesitate. “I’ll keep this from reaching the board.”
The implication behind what Drew said hit harder than anything else discussed in that room. Drew wasn’t offering a suggestion. He was claiming control.
I didn’t need to see Dad’s expression to know he didn’t appreciate Drew stepping into the space he usually occupied.
Inside the study, Lorne laughed under his breath. “You’re assuming you can control that outcome.”
“I’m stating escalation benefits no one here,” Drew answered.
I caught a partial glimpse of Dad through the narrow opening of the door as he moved closer to the desk. His jaw looked tight, his body stiff with barely contained anger.
“You allowed this financial structure to become unnecessarily complicated,” Dad said, the kind of measured tone he used when he was one step away from losing patience with Lorne.
“My responsibility was maintaining the flow of capital,” Lorne fired back. “Your responsibility was ensuring no one started looking at the numbers.”
Years of tension surfaced in seconds. “You pushed the structure too far,” Dad continued. “Additional offshore layers were unnecessary.”
“Your board demanded results,” Lorne snapped. “Do not pretend you objected when the numbers improved.”
The argument escalated, neither of them seemed willing to back down. Then Drew stepped forward. I saw the movement through the door—just enough to recognize the shift. One hand rested against the edge of the desk.
“Enough,” Drew said quietly.
Dad stopped talking. Lorne didn’t speak either.
Drew’s gaze moved between them. “We can debate responsibility later,” he continued calmly. “Right now, we focus on two things. First, identifying who initiated the inquiries into the transfers. Second, ensuring the board receives only the information we decide to provide.”
No one argued. Drew continued. “I’ll review internal financial access tonight. Until we determine where the pressure is coming from, no one outside this room discusses the matter.”
Dad’s voice stayed even. “Fine.”
The word sounded more like concession than agreement.
Lorne hesitated. Then he lifted his glass. “For now.”
Drew inclined his head slightly. “For now.”
The room grew quieter, and the tension thickened. I stepped back from the doorway before anyone noticed me standing in the hall. The argument inside continued, but the voices dropped lower into managed and controlled back and forth.
I walked back down the hallway slowly. When I had came through the back door earlier that night, I expected another ordinary evening in a house that had always felt immovable. Instead, I had just witnessed a power shift.
Drew had redirected the room. Not with anger and not with authority.
He had done it with strategy. Dad hated when someone else controlled the board.
For as long as I could remember, Dad had controlled every room in this house.
Every conversation. Every decision. Tonight had looked different.
Dad hadn’t ended the argument. Lorne hadn’t backed down. Instead, Drew had taken control.
The realization sank deep into my chest as I reached the stairs. The first real crack in this family’s foundation had finally appeared. And the person standing closest to it wasn’t my father—it was my brother.