Then at the manager.
Then slowly pulled out his phone.
He called me again.
This time, I answered.
“Charlotte?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“That you own the building.”
I remained silent.
“Who are you?”
I looked out the window.
“You knew me for two years.”
“But you lied to me.”
“No.”
My voice was calm.
“I simply didn’t tell you about my finances.”
“You made me think you were broke.”
“You assumed I was.”
He became quiet.
Then his voice changed.
“Charlotte, listen. About last night—”
“No.”
“I was drunk.”
“That doesn’t excuse it.”
“I lost my temper.”
“That doesn’t excuse it either.”
“Please.”
That single word sounded strange coming from him.
He had never said please to me like that.
“I made a mistake.”
“No, Jonathan.”
I closed my eyes.
“You made a choice.”
Silence.
Then he said the sentence that told me everything.
“Don’t destroy my company over a family argument.”
I almost smiled.
“It wasn’t a family argument.”
“What was it?”
“You hit me.”
He stopped talking.
“And then your mother praised you for it.”
“Charlotte…”
“That’s not a misunderstanding.”
I ended the call.
By noon, the investment committee had completed its review.
NexoCloud had serious problems.
The company wasn’t worthless.
But its financial position was significantly weaker than Jonathan had represented during private discussions.
There were questionable expenses.
Several contracts were dependent on assumptions that hadn’t materialized.
And some of the company’s projections were overly optimistic.
None of that was my decision.
The committee made its recommendation independently.
Funding was suspended pending further review.
Within hours, Jonathan’s phone exploded.
His chief financial officer called.
His board demanded an emergency meeting.
Two investors withdrew.
The bank requested updated financial information.
And Florence called me.
I answered.
“You’ve ruined my son’s company!”
“No.”
“You did this because you’re angry!”
“I did nothing to the company.”
“You control that fund!”
“Yes.”
“Then approve the money!”
“No.”
She inhaled sharply.
“You ungrateful little—”
I ended the call.
That evening, Jonathan came to my office.
