MY FIANCÉ CALLED ME “EASY” BECAUSE HE THOUGHT I WAS BROKE

Richard Wells came to see me on a Tuesday morning.

This time, he didn't bring Arthur.

He didn't bring Daniel Price.

He brought an attorney named Rebecca Shaw and a banker who had recently been appointed to oversee Briarwood's troubled refinancing.

Nina and Marcus joined us in the executive conference room.

Richard looked exhausted.

His hair was neatly combed, his suit expensive, his shoes perfectly polished.

But the confidence I remembered from the anniversary dinner was gone.

"Thank you for agreeing to this," he said.

I nodded.

"Rebecca explained that you wanted to clarify your company's position."

"Yes."

He looked toward his attorney.

She opened a folder.

"Mr. Wells has authorized an independent internal review of the representations made in connection with the Briarwood financing."

Nina folded her hands.

"That's appropriate."

"We're also conducting a review of the circumstances surrounding the Northbridge occupancy document."

I watched Richard.

He was staring at the table.

"Have you determined who created it?" Marcus asked.

Rebecca shook her head.

"Not conclusively."

"What about the emails?"

"They're under review."

Richard finally looked up.

"I've suspended Daniel Price from his duties pending that review."

I felt a small flicker of surprise.

"Has Arthur been suspended too?" I asked.

Richard's jaw tightened.

"Arthur is my son."

I waited.

He looked away.

"He has also been removed from the refinancing negotiations."

Nina made a note.

"Those are separate considerations, Richard. Our concern is the accuracy of the materials presented to the lender."

"I understand."

But I could see how difficult the conversation was for him.

Richard Wells had spent decades building his company.

His father had been a general contractor in Connecticut. Richard had grown up visiting construction sites, watching men pour foundations and erect steel.

He had expanded a modest family operation into a regional development company.

Arthur was supposed to inherit it.

Now Richard was being forced to consider the possibility that his son's actions might damage everything he'd built.

After Rebecca finished outlining the review, Richard looked directly at me.

"Elena, can I ask you something?"

"Yes."

"Is there any way Northbridge can still become our tenant?"

The question was different from the ones Arthur had asked.

Richard didn't demand.

He didn't invoke our former engagement.

He simply asked.

I glanced at Marcus.

"The independent committee hasn't permanently ruled out Briarwood," he said. "But our concerns have increased substantially. We need credible financing, a realistic completion schedule, and assurance that the information we're receiving is reliable."

Richard nodded.

"What if I provide those things?"

"Then the committee can reassess the opportunity on its commercial merits."

For a moment, I saw relief in his eyes.

Then Nina added, "But Northbridge cannot issue any letter or other instrument intended to validate representations that were previously inaccurate."

Richard's shoulders sagged.

"I understand."

I believed that he did.

The meeting ended without an agreement.

But as Rebecca gathered her papers, Richard asked for one more minute.

I agreed, with Nina remaining beside me.

He looked uncomfortable.

"Arthur says you concealed your wealth because you wanted to test him."

I took a slow breath.

"I didn't conceal my identity. I didn't lie about my career. I simply didn't advertise my personal finances."

Richard nodded.

"That's what I suspected."

"He never asked."

"I know."

I looked at him.

"Do you?"

Richard stared at the table.

Then he said, "After the meeting here, I asked Arthur what he knew about your work."

"What did he say?"

"That you organized business processes for small companies."

I smiled sadly.

"Sometimes I do."

"He couldn't name a single company you'd helped."

I looked away.

Richard continued.

"Then I asked what you were proudest of accomplishing professionally."

My throat tightened.

"What did he say?"

"Nothing."

There was a long silence.

"Six months," Richard said. "He'd been planning a life with you for six months, and he couldn't tell me what mattered most to you."

I swallowed.

"I tried to tell him."

Richard closed his eyes.

"I know."

He stood.

Then, unexpectedly, he looked at Nina.

"Would you mind giving Elena something?"

He handed her a small envelope.

"It's not about Briarwood."

Nina inspected it.

"What's inside?"

"A letter."

"From whom?"

"My wife."

I stiffened.

Richard sighed.

"I didn't ask her to write it. She insisted."

Nina accepted it.

"We'll review it."

After they left, I returned to my office.

The letter remained unopened on my desk until late afternoon.

When I finally read it, I understood why Richard had looked uncomfortable.

Elena,

Arthur has explained that the breakup has been exaggerated by misunderstandings and unfortunate timing.

Although your conduct has been disappointing, I believe women should demonstrate grace when circumstances become difficult.

Richard is under extraordinary pressure. Whatever personal disagreement exists between you and Arthur, I hope you will not allow it to interfere with a family's livelihood.

If you truly cared about Arthur, you would recognize that supporting his father now is the decent thing to do.

I would appreciate a private meeting before this situation becomes even more embarrassing.

Margaret Wells.

I placed the letter down.

There was no apology.

No acknowledgment of the dinner.

No recognition that the lease had never been signed.

Only an attempt to convert my former love for Arthur into an obligation to rescue his family.

I photographed it for Nina.

Then I put it away.

That evening, Charlotte stopped by my office carrying two cups of tea.

"Are we still working?"

"Unfortunately."

She set one cup beside me.

"Have you eaten?"

"Define eaten."

"Elena."

"I had a granola bar."

She shook her head.

"You're going to give me gray hair."

"I thought Miguel already did that."

She laughed.

Then her expression softened.

"I heard Richard came in."

"Yes."

"How did it go?"

"He seems to be discovering some unpleasant things about his family."

Charlotte sat opposite me.

"Are you tempted to help him?"

I stared at my tea.

"I don't know."

"That's an answer."

"I don't want the company to collapse. There are hundreds of people connected to that project. Contractors, employees, tenants, suppliers."

"And?"

"And Richard has been arrogant. His son has been dishonest. Margaret has been cruel. But that doesn't mean everyone who works for them deserves to suffer."

Charlotte nodded.

"No, it doesn't."

I looked at her.

"But I can't ask our employees to bear the cost of saving theirs."

"Exactly."

She leaned forward.

"Elena, the people who built Northbridge trusted you to protect this company. You can care about strangers without placing your own people at risk."

I looked down.

"I know."

"Then don't confuse compassion with accepting responsibility for someone else's choices."

I thought about that after she left.

During the early years, I'd been willing to risk everything for Northbridge.

But the risks had been mine to accept.

The people who worked for me now had mortgages, children, medical bills, and futures.

I wasn't entitled to gamble with their security because I felt sorry for Richard.

The next day, Atlantic Crest Bank formally requested a revised financial package from Wells Development.

The lender wanted independent verification of commercial occupancy commitments, updated construction budgets, and confirmation of the project's remaining capital requirements.

Without satisfactory responses, the bank could restrict additional advances under the existing financing agreements.

Richard called Marcus immediately.

His voice was strained.

"We need another thirty days."

Marcus was sympathetic but firm.

"Northbridge isn't the lender, Richard."

"But you understand what happens if the bank freezes the money."

"I do."

"Then help us."

"By doing what?"

"By confirming you're still considering Briarwood."

Marcus paused.

"We can accurately state that Northbridge previously evaluated the property and has not entered a binding agreement. Beyond that, we cannot provide assurances that don't exist."

Richard was silent.

Then he said, "That's not enough."

"I'm sorry."

I heard about the conversation later.

I was sitting in my office when Nina called with another update.

"The forensic specialists have identified something important."

"What?"

"The alleged Northbridge signature appears to have been inserted into the document after the original PDF was generated."

I sat forward.

"Can they determine who did it?"

"Not conclusively from the PDF alone. But the available revision history identifies the account used for the final edit."

I closed my eyes.

"Daniel?"

"Yes."

I let out a slow breath.

"Does that clear Arthur?"

"No."

Nina's voice was firm.

"Someone creating a false document and someone knowingly helping circulate it are different questions."

I looked at the emails again.

Send the package.

We'll get the tenant comfortable after the bank meeting.

Arthur hadn't necessarily created the false signature.

But he had known the underlying commitment wasn't genuine.

And he had chosen to proceed.

Before I could respond, Nina continued.

"There's another issue."

I felt my stomach tighten.

"What now?"

"Outside counsel reviewing the lender records found a project expense account that doesn't reconcile with the construction budget."

"How much?"

"Approximately $2.4 million in consulting and development-management expenses over eighteen months."

I frowned.

"That isn't necessarily unusual for a project this size."

"Correct. But a significant portion was paid to a firm called Larchmont Advisory."

"Have we worked with them?"

"No. And that isn't the concern. The concern is that the services described on the invoices overlap with work Wells Development was already paying its own employees to perform."

I stared at my notes.

"Who authorized the payments?"

"Daniel Price."

I stood and walked toward the window.

"Does Richard know?"

"His outside counsel is examining it. We have no reason to assume he knew."

I watched a delivery truck turn onto the avenue below.

For months, Briarwood had appeared to be a troubled but potentially viable development.

Now it was becoming clear that its problems extended beyond rising construction costs.

Someone might have been extracting money from the project while presenting lenders with inflated commitments.

And Arthur had been so determined to protect the refinancing that he'd helped circulate documents he knew weren't reliable.

At seven that evening, Richard called me directly.

For a moment, I considered ignoring him.

Then I answered.

"Richard."

His voice sounded hollow.

"Elena, I've had a terrible day."

"I'm sorry."

"Daniel's attorney contacted us. He's refusing to answer questions until the company provides certain legal protections."

I closed my eyes.

"Then you need to let your counsel handle it."

"I know."

He paused.

"I've spent the last twelve hours looking at financial reports I used to sign without reading every line."

I said nothing.

"I thought I was being efficient. I trusted the people around me."

He laughed bitterly.

"Apparently, trust isn't the same thing as oversight."

"No," I said quietly. "It isn't."

He was silent.

Then he asked, "Did Arthur ever tell you how badly Briarwood was doing?"

"He told me it was complicated and that I wouldn't understand."

Richard made a sound that might have been a laugh.

"Of course he did."

"Richard, why are you calling me?"

The silence stretched.

Finally, he said, "Because I need to know whether I've already lost my son."

I closed my eyes.

That wasn't a question I could answer.

"Arthur is responsible for his choices."

"I know."

"You can love him without pretending those choices were acceptable."

Richard inhaled sharply.

Then he whispered, "I've spent his entire life making excuses for him."

I said nothing.

"He failed an important exam in college, and I called someone. He made a disastrous investment, and I covered the loss. He insulted employees, and I told myself he was simply under pressure."

His voice broke.

"I kept thinking he'd grow up."

I felt unexpected sympathy.

Not because Richard was innocent.

He wasn't.

But because the man on the phone had finally begun to recognize the damage his own indulgence had caused.

"Richard," I said, "you still have decisions to make."

"I know."

"Make the ones you can live with."

He was quiet.

Then he thanked me and ended the call.

The next morning, my phone lit up with a message from Arthur.