Chapter 8 - My Father’s Investigator
Victor Hale had worked for my father.
Years earlier.
Before Beverly.
That sounded like betrayal until context emerged.
Dad hired Victor seven years earlier to conduct due diligence on Crestview when Edwin and I became serious.
I was furious.
“You investigated my boyfriend?”
Victor answered:
“Your father investigated business he was guaranteeing.”
“Did he investigate me?”
“No.”
“Edwin personally?”
“Public records, litigation history, business background.”
Normal-ish due diligence.
Then Victor discovered Horizon Build Systems dispute with Marcus Bell.
Reported.
Dad confronted Edwin?
No.
He asked me:
“What do you know about how Edwin acquired company?”
I snapped:
“Why can’t you just be happy for me?”
I remembered.
Victor’s first engagement ended.
Years later Beverly hired him.
Ethically questionable to switch sides? Depends no confidential-duty? Investigators can have contracts/confidentiality. He claimed first matter closed and no restriction, but potentially conflict.
He began giving Beverly intelligence about Stanford structures.
Some came from public filings.
Some from contacts.
Medical details were problematic.
“How did you get Dad’s health information?”
Victor looked at attorney.
Then:
“Edwin provided some.”
“From where?”
“Camila.”
I stared.
“What?”
Edwin had access to my phone, emails? Not necessarily spyware. He may have read messages Dad sent me and appointments I discussed.
Dad had told me about cardiologist.
I told Edwin.
Then Edwin fed Victor.
Some details came from a nurse? That would be illegal. Victor admitted paying a medical-office scheduler for appointment timing, not medical content. Serious privacy breach. Investigation separate.
Then:
“Did Lauren hire you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To protect herself.”
“Did you spy on me?”
“No.”
“Dad?”
“Tracked public movements and business meetings at Edwin’s request.”
“Did you know fake company named me was paying?”
“I invoiced Westlake, not Camila Consulting directly. Funds upstream not visible.”
Plausible.
Then critical.
“Why did you tell Beverly grief makes me compliant?”
Victor corrected:
“I didn’t.”
The memo attribution? It recorded Beverly’s statement.
Good.
Then:
“Did Edwin know Dad might die soon?”
“He knew health was deteriorating. Nobody told me death imminent.”
Heart attack sudden.
No conspiracy.
Then:
“Did Edwin plan to isolate me after death?”
Victor hesitated.
“He discussed limiting your access to Wayne during first forty-eight hours.”
“Why?”
“He believed Wayne would tell you trust terms before Edwin got spousal waivers.”
There.
“Was locking door part?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Victor gave timeline.
Two months earlier Edwin instructed:
prepare “bereavement protocol.”
Who uses that phrase?
A controlling man.
Plan:
keep Camila at Bel Air.
Beverly handle visitors.
Edwin manage phone.
Delay legal meetings until after funeral.
Present restructuring papers as continuity measures.
No literal dog humiliation in plan.
That was Edwin improvising cruelty.
But underlying restriction was planned.
Then Dad.
Victor had become uneasy.
Why?
Because Edwin requested increasingly personal intelligence.
Where Wayne met me.
Which bank Dad used.
Whether estate documents had changed.
Victor refused some.
Then Lauren retained him independently.
He told her about bereavement protocol.
She saved notes.
Why didn't he warn me?
“Client confidentiality.”
“Which client?”
“Edwin.”
That answer angered.
“What if client plans coercion?”
His attorney interrupted. Legal/ethical boundaries complex.
Victor finally said:
“I should have withdrawn earlier.”
Yes.
Then:
“Did you tell Dad anything?”
“No.”
“Did Dad know you switched sides?”
“Yes.”
What?
“How?”
“George recognized me outside restaurant.”
Of course.
“What did he say?”
Victor smiled faintly.
“He said, ‘Beverly pays you better?’”
Dad.
Then:
“Did you answer?”
“I told him I wasn’t proud of assignment.”
“What did he say?”
“Then stop taking money.”
Simple.
Victor did not.
Until after Dad died.
Then final item.
A photograph from three weeks earlier.
Dad meeting someone.
Crestview director Harold Finch.
The supposedly Edwin-aligned board member.
Dad and Harold had secret meeting.
Why?
Harold was whistleblowing too.
He had voted with Edwin publicly while feeding Dad internal governance concerns.
Why?
He feared removal before audit committee ready.
But Harold’s wife got contracts through Beverly.
Compromised.
Dad told him:
disclose everything or you’re useless as witness.
Harold hadn’t yet.
Now he would.
Then Harold’s testimony:
Edwin had tried to get board pre-approval for restructuring that would shift certain liabilities toward spouse-affiliated consultant entities.
He refused final vote.
That was why Edwin wanted postnup.
Then Harold said:
“George planned to trigger review himself Monday.”
Dad died Sunday night.
Clause One wasn't emergency improvised after death.
Dad was already about to force governance review.
My call accelerated something he had prepared.
Then Harold revealed:
“George didn’t die believing you were trapped.”
“What?”
“He told me Friday: ‘Camila is closer to leaving than Edwin knows.’”
I stared.
How would Dad know?
Then I remembered our last lunch.
I had asked:
“Dad, if I ever wanted to work again, would Franklin Urban take someone away five years?”
He smiled.
“They’d be fools not to.”
I had been thinking of life outside marriage before death.
Dad knew.
Then Harold gave me one envelope Dad left with him.
Not legal.
Personal.
Inside:
a business card.
Franklin Urban Partners.
My old employer.
On back, Dad wrote:
They said door is still open.
I cried.
He had quietly checked.
Not arranged job.
Just asked whether possibility existed.
Then phone rang.
Franklin Urban’s founder, Miriam Franklin, was calling me.
Not because Dad bought position.
Because Dad had contacted her one month earlier and asked one question:
“If Camila calls someday, will you judge five-year gap before looking at work?”
Miriam answered:
“No.”
Now she was calling because she heard George died.
She said:
“I’m sorry about your father. And if you ever want coffee, no promises, no favors.”
That was all.
May you like
A door.
Not rescue.
