"“Your daughters can eat after you get home,” my mother said, pushing two paper napkins toward them as though that should be enough.

The corporate governance of Vance Supply Co. was relatively simple: my father owned 60% of the voting shares, my mother held 30%, and I held 10%. Brandon held no shares directly—he had been appointed Managing Director under the assumption that he would eventually inherit my father's shares upon his passing.

However, the company bylaws clearly stated that any shareholder possessing 10% or more had the authority to call an emergency special audit if evidence of financial misconduct was presented.

On Friday morning, Brandon sat at the executive desk in his newly redecorated office, feet propped up, sipping an artisanal coffee. When I walked in alongside Arthur and an independent forensic accountant named Marcus Vance (no relation), Brandon didn't even bother to take his feet off the desk.

"Well, well," Brandon smirked, throwing his hands behind his head. "Look who decided to crawl back. Did you bring Lily and Emma to apologize for your pathetic little dramatic scene, Nat?"

I placed a thick leather binder on his desk with a heavy thud.

"This is a formal notice of a Minority Shareholder Audit," I said evenly. "Effective immediately, all executive credit cards under your name are suspended pending investigation."

Brandon’s smirk vanished instantly. He sat up, his face flushing crimson. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you crazy? This is Dad's company! I run this place!"

"Dad owns sixty percent. I own ten percent," I replied, pulling out a chair and sitting down opposite him. "And as a shareholder, I have uncovered seventy-two thousand dollars in unauthorized, non-business related personal expenditures over the last year. Including eighty-four charges at luxury steak houses, Spa weekends in Lake Geneva, and a six-thousand-dollar watch logged as 'consulting fees'."

Brandon slammed his palms onto the desk, standing up. "Dad authorized all of that!"

"Dad didn't even know Paige’s designer clothes were being written off under office inventory," Arthur spoke up from behind me, holding a tablet displaying digital receipts. "And Brandon... you forged your father's signature on the quarterly expense authorization form last month."

Brandon went pale. He looked at Arthur, then at me, his lungs pumping air rapidly as panic set in.

"You think you're smart, don't you, Natalie?" Brandon snarled, leaning over the desk, his voice trembling with anger. "You think you can come in here and ruin my life because Mom didn't let your kids order steak? You're a pathetic, bitter loser!"

"I am a certified public accountant, Brandon," I corrected him calmly. "And right now, I am your worst nightmare. You have forty-eight hours to provide valid business justifications for every single expense listed in this binder. If you cannot, I will submit these documents directly to the corporate fraud division and call an emergency board vote to remove you as Managing Director."

"Mom will never let you!" he screamed.

"Mom doesn't own sixty percent," I said, standing up and smoothing down my blazer. "Dad does."

As I turned to walk out, Brandon threw his coffee cup against the doorframe. The dark liquid splashed across the wall, dripping down like an emblem of his crumbling control.