My Family Expected Me to Hand Over the Company I Created, but I Had a Plan They Never Considered
My mother frowned.
“What are operating assets?”
I set my glass down.
“That’s an excellent question, Mom.”
My father finally looked at me.
“Sutton, what did you do?”
I tilted my head.
“Nothing that wasn’t already documented.”
Cashin began reviewing the paperwork on his tablet.
“There has to be a mistake. It says the intellectual property is held by a separate company. The manufacturing facilities are leased. The patents aren’t included. The trademarks aren’t included. The primary business accounts aren’t included.”
He looked up at me.
“What exactly did we acquire?”
I smiled.
“The company your father legally controlled.”
My father’s expression changed.
“Sutton, watch your tone.”
“No, Dad. I think everyone should start paying closer attention to the paperwork.”
Fallon placed her champagne glass on the table, spilling a little across the tablecloth.
“You misled us!”
I almost laughed.
For eighteen years, I had been the one sitting quietly while my family made decisions about things I had worked hard to build.
My college savings. My first business profits. My patents. My time. My reputation.
Now they were accusing me of being unfair because I had finally learned to protect what I had created.
I leaned back.
“Fallon, you announced in front of thirty-two people that Dad had transferred my company to you. You said I would receive nothing. You even offered me an entry-level position in the business I created.”
She folded her arms.
“Because that’s what Dad promised us!”
“Exactly.”
I turned toward my father.
“Would you like to explain why you promised them something you didn’t have the authority to transfer?”
My father put down his glass.
The confident businessman who had been making speeches earlier that evening suddenly seemed uncertain.
“Sutton, we can discuss this privately.”
“No. You wanted to make the announcement publicly. Everyone can hear the explanation, too.”
My mother shook her head.
“This is Thanksgiving. Please don’t turn the evening into an argument.”
I looked at her.
“Mom, this situation began long before tonight. We can at least have an honest conversation about it.”
Nobody moved.
I picked up my tablet.
“Let’s start with the ownership structure.”
I opened the first document.
“Dad’s name appeared on the original company registration because I was seventeen when the business was established. He was listed as the initial managing member under the arrangement created at that time. That’s the paperwork everyone remembers.”
My father nodded.
“Exactly. I was responsible for the company.”
“You were the original registered manager,” I corrected. “Those aren’t necessarily the same thing as owning every asset.”
I moved to the next page.
“When I turned eighteen, I established Sutton Holdings. The patents, trademarks, proprietary formulas, manufacturing processes, and other intellectual property were assigned to that holding company.”
Cashin narrowed his eyes.
“That doesn’t make sense. I reviewed the corporate records.”
“Which records?”
He hesitated.
“The company records.”
I smiled.
“You reviewed the operating company’s records. You didn’t review the complete ownership structure of the holding company.”
He looked down again.
I continued.
“The operating company manufactures and sells the products. It licenses the technology from Sutton Holdings. The facilities are leased through another entity. The manufacturing equipment belongs to a separate asset company. Certain customer agreements are also maintained under separate contracts.”
My father looked surprised.
“You separated everything?”
“I did.”
“Why?”
I stared at him.
“You really want me to answer that?”
He didn’t respond.
“Because when I was seventeen, you made decisions about the money I earned without consulting me. When I asked about my college savings, I didn’t receive a clear explanation. And every time I tried to expand the business, another family request seemed to take priority over the work I was doing.”
My voice remained steady.
“I learned that if I didn’t organize and protect what I built, nobody else would do it for me.”
Fallon shook her head.
“This is ridiculous. Dad gave us the company. We signed the transfer.”
“Yes,” I replied. “You did.”
“So we’re the owners!”
“According to the documents, you acquired an interest in the operating company, subject to its existing contracts, liabilities, and obligations. That doesn’t automatically transfer every separate asset associated with the business.”
Cashin stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means the transfer isn’t as simple as you were led to believe.”
A few people around the table exchanged glances.
I continued.
“There’s another important detail. The operating company has a licensing agreement with Sutton Holdings. That agreement includes provisions concerning changes in ownership and control.”
Cashin looked uncomfortable.
“What provisions?”
“Certain changes require written approval from the intellectual property owner before the company can continue using the protected technology under the existing arrangement.”
He looked at Fallon, then at my father.
“Are you saying we need your approval?”
“I’m saying the agreement needs to be reviewed before anyone assumes they can operate the business without considering its existing obligations.”
Fallon stood.
“You can’t just change everything! We have customers and employees!”
“I know. I hired many of them.”
“You would put the whole business at risk because you’re upset with us?”
I looked at her for a moment.
“No, Fallon. I intend to protect the business and the people who depend on it. That’s why everything needs to be handled properly.”
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Enough. Sutton, tell me what you want.”
There it was.
The question I had waited eighteen years to hear.
Not whether I was doing well. Not how I had built the business. Not how much time I had invested.
Just what I wanted.
I folded my hands.
“I want the truth.”
My father looked confused.
“About what?”
“About why you made these arrangements without discussing them with me.”
He glanced at Fallon.
She looked away.
Cashin began gathering the printed documents.
“We shouldn’t continue this conversation without our attorney.”
“Of course,” I replied. “Your attorney can contact mine.”
My father leaned forward.
“Sutton, don’t make this more difficult.”
I gave a quiet laugh.
“More difficult than what?”
I reached into my bag and removed another folder.
It was considerably thicker than the first.
“I didn’t prepare this because I wanted an argument tonight. I prepared it because I wanted to understand some financial irregularities that had appeared in the company’s records.”
I placed it beside my tablet.
The label on the front read:
INTERNAL FINANCIAL REVIEW — CONFIDENTIAL
Cashin stopped moving.
My father stared at it.
Fallon looked between us.
“What is that?”
“Something I received three weeks ago.”
I opened the folder.
Inside were bank statements, invoices, internal correspondence, board records, and transaction summaries.
I pulled out the first page.
“Over the last four years, payments were made from Sutton Arowave to a consulting company called Whitmore Strategic Solutions.”
Cashin’s expression changed.
My father became unusually quiet.
Fallon looked at her husband.
“What is Whitmore Strategic Solutions?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
I looked at him.
“Would you like to explain?”
Cashin cleared his throat.
“It was a consulting arrangement. We provided business development services.”
I nodded.
“That’s what the invoices say.”
I moved the page toward him.
“However, the review found that the company had limited verifiable business activity, no clearly documented deliverables, and insufficient records supporting several of the invoices.”
My mother slowly lowered her napkin.
I continued.
“According to the preliminary review, approximately $2.8 million was transferred through this arrangement over four years.”
My aunt looked surprised.
“Two point eight million?”
I nodded.
“And that’s the amount currently identified in the records being examined.”
My father finally spoke.
“These are serious allegations. You cannot simply present a report and expect everyone to accept its conclusions.”
“I agree. That’s why the financial review is continuing, and why the documents are being examined by independent professionals.”
I looked directly at Cashin.
“Several transactions were approved using an authorization code assigned to you. That needs a proper explanation.”
Cashin shook his head.
“That doesn’t establish that I did anything wrong.”
“No,” I replied calmly. “It establishes that the records need to be examined. If everything was legitimate, the supporting documentation should help clarify the situation.”
He looked down at the folder.
I removed another document.
It was a printed email sent from Cashin’s personal account to my father several weeks earlier.
The subject line read:
THE SUTTON TRANSFER PLAN
My father reached for it.
I placed my hand over the paper.
“Please let me finish.”
I read the first sentence aloud.
“Once Fallon receives the operating company, we can use the transfer to encourage Sutton to consider a settlement. She won’t want a lengthy disagreement, and she may eventually accept a financial arrangement.”
The room became quiet.
I read the next sentence.
“The family announcement should help everyone understand the transition. People will naturally support Fallon as she prepares to take on additional responsibilities.”
Fallon slowly turned toward her husband.
“What?”
Cashin looked uncomfortable.
“That email doesn’t explain the entire conversation.”
I continued reading.
“Allaric can handle the family announcement. Genevieve will support it. Sutton is likely to disagree, but once she understands that the family has already made plans, she’ll eventually cooperate.”
My mother covered her mouth.
My father stood.
“That’s enough!”
I placed the email on the table.
“No, Dad. We still need to understand why this was discussed without me.”
He pointed toward the folder.
“You have no idea how complicated business arrangements can become.”
I looked at him calmly.
“Actually, I have spent most of my adult life learning exactly how complicated they can become.”
Then I turned toward Fallon.
“I have a question for you.”
She looked nervous.
“What?”
“Did you know about the financial review?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“Did you know Cashin had discussed using the company transfer to encourage me to sell my ownership interests?”
“No.”
“Did you know Dad had been discussing the arrangement with him for months?”
Her eyes moved toward our father.
That was answer enough.
My father sat down.
For several moments, the only sound in the room was the rain outside.
Then Fallon spoke quietly.
“Dad told me you had agreed to give me the company.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“He said you were tired and wanted to step away. He told me the transfer was something you had discussed with him.”
I looked at my father.
“Is that true?”
He didn’t answer.
Fallon continued.
“He said you had enough money and wanted to focus on your personal life. He told me that because I was preparing for a baby, it would be a good time for me to take on more responsibility.”
My chest tightened.
I looked at her.
“Then why did you announce that I would receive nothing?”
She lowered her eyes.
“Cashin said it would make the transition easier if everyone understood that the decision was final. He thought you might change your mind if we gave you more time.”
I closed my eyes briefly.
There was a difference between being misinformed and deciding not to ask questions.
Even if Fallon had believed the transfer was legitimate, she had accepted the idea of taking over my business without first asking me about it.
She had stood at the table and offered me an entry-level position.
She had treated the announcement as a celebration.
I slowly pushed my chair back.
“I’m going to say something, and I want everyone to listen.”
Nobody moved.
“Sutton Arowave will continue operating. Our employees will receive their salaries. Our customers will receive their orders. Our suppliers will be treated fairly. Nobody who works honestly for that company should be affected by a disagreement between family members.”
I looked at Cashin.
“But the financial questions will be investigated properly, and anyone responsible for irregularities will have to explain their involvement.”
Cashin stood.
“You cannot prove that I did anything wrong!”
I closed the folder.
“Then you should welcome a transparent review.”
He picked up his coat.
“I’m leaving.”
“That’s your decision.”
He turned toward Fallon.
“Come on.”
She remained seated.
“Fallon!”
She looked at him.
“Please give me a moment.”
He shook his head and walked toward the front door.
A few seconds later, it closed behind him.
Fallon stared at the documents.
Then she looked at me.
“Did you know this was going to happen tonight?”
I took a breath.
“I knew there were questions about the company transfer and the financial records. I didn’t know exactly how the family announcement would unfold.”
“Then why didn’t you warn me?”
I looked at her.
“Because I wanted to see whether you would ask even one question before accepting something that belonged to me.”
Her expression changed.
I continued.
“You didn’t ask about the employees. You didn’t ask about the patents. You didn’t ask about the people who had spent years building this business with me. You only seemed interested in receiving the title.”
She began to cry.
I didn’t raise my voice.
“Fallon, I understand that Dad may have given you an incomplete picture. But you still had a responsibility to ask me before accepting such an important decision.”
Cashin’s absence became more noticeable as the conversation continued.
My mother began crying.
My father stared toward the empty doorway.
I stood beside the Thanksgiving table, surrounded by people who had spent years telling me that family meant loyalty and trust.
Somehow, those expectations had rarely applied equally to everyone.
I picked up my glass.
The ice had melted.
I placed it back on the table.
“Dinner is over,” I said quietly.
Then I walked toward the hallway.
Before I reached the staircase, my father called my name.
“Sutton.”
I stopped.
He stood beside the fireplace.
His expression looked different now.
“Please. We need to discuss something else.”
I turned around.
“What else?”
He glanced at my mother, then at Fallon.
Finally, he lowered his voice.
“There’s something about the original company registration you don’t know.”
My stomach tightened.
“What?”
He swallowed.
“The original documents from when you were seventeen…”
I waited.
He looked directly into my eyes.
“Your mother and I didn’t just put my name on the business because you were underage.”
I felt the room grow quiet.
“What are you saying?”
He took a breath.
“Before you turned eighteen, we prepared another agreement. It proposed transferring certain ownership rights to Fallon.”
My mother immediately stood.
“Allaric, don’t!”
I stared at them.
“What agreement?”
My father closed his eyes.
“Your sister was supposed to receive a substantial ownership interest before you turned eighteen.”
I couldn’t move.
Because if that was true, the disagreement about my company hadn’t begun with the Thanksgiving announcement.
It had started much earlier.
And suddenly, everything I thought I understood about my family’s decisions seemed incomplete.
PART 4 — The Agreement Nobody Told Me About
For the first time in eighteen years, I felt something I hadn’t experienced since I was a teenager.
I felt fifteen again.
Standing in that garage, holding a piece of fabric I had spent months developing, believing that if I worked hard enough, my family would eventually understand what I was trying to build.
But now my father was telling me that the people who were supposed to guide me had considered giving a significant portion of my business to my sister before I was even an adult.
I stared at him.
“What agreement?”
My father rubbed his forehead.
“Sutton, you need to understand the circumstances.”
“No. I need you to answer the question.”
My mother stood beside her chair, looking uncomfortable.
“Please, sweetheart. We were trying to protect the family.”
I turned toward her.
“From what?”
She looked down.
“From losing the opportunities we had.”
I shook my head.
“I was fifteen years old when I started that business. I was making fabric samples in a garage. What exactly did you think we were protecting?”
My father sighed.
“Your first investor wanted a formal ownership structure. You were a minor. Your mother and I were advised to establish a family arrangement.”
“By whom?”
“An attorney.”
“Which attorney?”
He hesitated.
“Martin Ellison.”
I recognized the name immediately.
Martin Ellison had helped establish the original company. He had retired several years earlier, but I remembered him because he was one of the few adults who had treated me seriously when I first presented my ideas.
I had assumed he had simply prepared the paperwork my father requested.
Now I wondered whether there had been more to the story.
“What did you sign?”
My father walked toward the table.
“Before you turned eighteen, we discussed creating a family trust. It was supposed to hold a portion of the company’s ownership for the benefit of both daughters.”
I stared at him.
“Both daughters?”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
He didn’t answer.
“How much of my company did you propose giving Fallon?”
My mother finally spoke.
“Forty percent.”
I felt my fingers tighten around my phone.
Forty percent.
My father continued.
“The proposal stated that Fallon would receive that share when you reached twenty-one. Your mother and I would retain certain interests until the business became more established.”
I slowly shook my head.
“That agreement was never disclosed to me.”
“It was a family arrangement.”
“I was the person who created the company!”
“You were a child!”
That sentence made me pause.
I looked directly at him.
“Yes, Dad. I was a child. That’s why I trusted you.”
He looked away.
“You were supposed to protect me. You were supposed to make sure nobody made important decisions about my future without considering my interests.”
My mother began crying.
I continued.
“Instead, you used my age as a reason to make decisions about something I had built.”
My father lowered his voice.
“We never intended to hurt you.”
“Intentions don’t replace proper agreements and honest communication.”
I reached for my tablet and called my attorney.
Her name was Eleanor Whitaker.
She had represented Sutton Holdings for almost twelve years and had helped me organize the company after I discovered the first financial irregularities.
She answered on the second ring.
“Good evening, Sutton.”
“Eleanor, I need you to come to the house tomorrow morning. There’s another document I need you to investigate.”
“What happened?”
I glanced at my father.
“My parents say they prepared a trust before I turned eighteen that proposed giving Fallon forty percent of Sutton Arowave.”
There was a pause.
Then Eleanor asked a question that made me pay close attention.
“Did your father say the trust was signed before or after your eighteenth birthday?”
“Before.”
Another pause.
“Interesting.”
“What does that mean?”
“We searched the original corporate records years ago. There was a reference to a proposed family trust, but we never located a completed agreement. I specifically remember that.”
I looked at my father.
“Are you certain?”
“I’m certain enough to investigate. Don’t sign anything or acknowledge any ownership claim until we’ve reviewed the documents. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
She ended the call.
My father looked uncomfortable.
“What did she say?”
I slipped the phone into my pocket.
“She couldn’t find a completed agreement in the records she reviewed.”
My father shook his head.
“That’s because the original was kept in a private safe.”
“Where?”
He hesitated.
“Your mother’s storage office.”
My mother looked up.
“That’s impossible.”
My father turned toward her.
“Genevieve.”
She shook her head.
“You told me that document had been destroyed.”
The room became silent.
I slowly turned toward my mother.
“Destroyed?”
She covered her mouth.
My father closed his eyes.
I realized that there was an entire history of decisions made without my knowledge. Every time I thought I had finally understood what happened, another unanswered question appeared.
“Mom,” I said quietly. “What document was destroyed?”
She looked at me.
Then she began to explain.
“The original agreement was never supposed to be permanent.”
My father stepped forward.
“Genevieve, stop.”
But she continued.
“Your father wanted to give Fallon a share of the business because he believed you would eventually become successful enough to support everyone. He thought you would be generous with whatever you earned.”
I stared at her.
“And what did you think?”
She looked down.
“I thought it was fair.”
I nodded slowly.
“Fair.”
Then I walked out of the dining room.
I had heard enough for one evening.
But I wasn’t finished.
Not even close.
The Document in the Storage Office
The following morning, Eleanor arrived at 9:15.
She brought two associates and a corporate investigator named David Mercer.
I met them in my home office.
The Thanksgiving decorations were still on the dining table. The staff had cleared away the unfinished dinner, but a faint stain remained on the tablecloth.
I hadn’t slept much.
Eleanor placed her briefcase on my desk.
“Tell me everything.”
I explained what my father had said, including the proposed forty-percent arrangement and my mother’s statement that the original document had supposedly been destroyed.
Eleanor listened without interrupting.
When I finished, she opened her laptop.
“First, we need to establish whether this agreement was ever legally completed. Second, we need to determine whether anyone relied on it when making ownership or financial decisions.”
David nodded.
“We should also preserve all communications concerning the proposed trust and the company transfer.”
I agreed.
Then Eleanor asked, “Where is the storage office?”
I led them downstairs.
My mother was already waiting.
She looked exhausted.
My father sat in an armchair near the window.
Neither greeted Eleanor.
The storage office was a small room behind the library. My mother kept old financial documents, photographs, family records, and boxes of paperwork there.
She unlocked a cabinet.
Inside were several folders.
Eleanor began reviewing them.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
Finally, she stopped.
“Sutton.”
I walked over.
She held up a yellowed envelope.
On the front was handwritten:
SUTTON AROWAVE — ORIGINAL FAMILY AGREEMENT
My stomach tightened.
Eleanor opened it carefully.
Inside were three documents.
The first was a proposed family trust agreement.
The second was an unsigned ownership schedule.
The third was a letter from Martin Ellison dated four days after the proposed agreement had been prepared.
Eleanor read the letter silently.
Then she looked at my father.
“Mr. Allaric, did you ever receive a fully executed version of this agreement?”
My father nodded.
“Yes.”
“Can you produce it?”
He looked toward my mother.
She shook her head.
Eleanor studied the documents again.
“Because the copy here is not signed by Sutton, and the ownership schedule is also unsigned.”
My father frowned.
“You don’t need her signature. She was seventeen.”
Eleanor remained calm.
“That’s not the only issue. This document appears to be a proposal rather than a completed transfer. The attorney’s letter also raises an important question.”
She placed the letter on the desk.
I leaned forward.
The letter read:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Allaric,
Following our meeting, I must advise you that the proposed allocation of ownership interests cannot proceed as discussed without the appropriate legal authority and the necessary disclosures to Sutton, who is the founder and beneficial owner of the business.
The fact that she is a minor does not permit the company to be treated as an unrestricted family asset.
Any arrangement that removes or materially reduces her ownership without proper consent and legal review could create significant legal complications.
For that reason, I will not execute the proposed transfer documents.
I read it twice.
Then I looked at my father.
“You knew?”
He said nothing.
“You knew the attorney had declined to complete the arrangement?”
My father rubbed his face.
“We found another attorney.”
Eleanor raised her eyebrows.
“Who?”
“Richard Voss.”
David immediately looked up.
“Richard Voss?”
My father nodded.
David exchanged a glance with Eleanor.
I noticed.
“What?”
Eleanor closed the folder.
“Richard Voss represented Whitmore Strategic Solutions during its formation.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
Whitmore Strategic Solutions.
The same company connected to the $2.8 million in payments currently being reviewed.
Eleanor looked at my father.
“So the attorney who supposedly completed this ownership arrangement was also connected to the consulting company that received payments from Sutton Arowave?”
My father stood.
“I don’t know anything about Cashin’s company.”
Eleanor didn’t argue.
She simply wrote something in her notebook.
Then she turned toward me.
“Sutton, I think we need to expand the investigation and review the relationship between these entities.”
I nodded.
“Do it.”
But before anyone could leave, my mother spoke.
“There is something else.”
Everyone turned toward her.
She was holding a small photograph.
It showed me at fifteen, standing in the garage with a piece of my first temperature-regulating fabric.
I remembered that day.
I had been proud of the sample and had asked my mother to take a photograph.
She had refused.
Now she was holding that same photograph.
“I kept this because I knew what you were building,” she whispered.
I didn’t know what to say.
She placed the photograph on the desk.
“Your father told me the company would never become anything. He said Fallon would need more support because she wasn’t as ambitious as you.”
I stared at her.
My mother continued.
“He believed you would always find a way to succeed. He thought you could lose money and earn it back. He thought Fallon would have a harder time building something independently.”
I felt a deep sadness settle over me.
“So you made decisions about my future because you thought I was strong enough to recover?”
She covered her face.
“Yes.”
For the first time, my mother admitted what had happened without trying to explain it away as an act of love.
And somehow, that hurt more than all the other revelations.
The Man Who Finally Told the Truth
Three days later, Eleanor arranged a meeting with Martin Ellison.
He was eighty-one years old and living in a quiet neighborhood outside the city.
When we arrived, he greeted me warmly.
“Sutton. My goodness. Look at you.”
I shook his hand.
“It’s been a long time.”
He smiled.
“I still remember your first fabric sample. You brought it into my office in a plastic grocery bag.”
I laughed despite myself.
“I couldn’t afford a proper presentation case.”
He smiled again.
“You were fifteen, but you arrived with a business plan, product samples, and a notebook full of ideas. I remember telling you that if you stayed organized and continued learning, you might build something meaningful.”
I looked at Eleanor.
She explained why we had come.
Martin listened carefully.
When she finished, he leaned back in his chair.
“I remember the proposed family agreement,” he said. “And I remember why I refused to complete it.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Why?”
He looked directly at me.
“Because the proposal involved ownership interests in a company you had founded. Your parents wanted to establish an arrangement that would benefit the entire family, but they had not provided the necessary disclosures or obtained the appropriate approvals.”
Eleanor opened her notebook.
“Did you ever prepare a completed version?”
Martin shook his head.
“Not that I can recall. I advised them that the proposal needed further legal review.”
I looked at him.
“Did you tell them that I should be informed?”
“Yes. I believed you needed to understand any arrangement that could affect your business.”
My father had told me something very different.
Martin continued.
“After that meeting, I sent them a written letter explaining my concerns. I also kept a copy in my professional records.”
Eleanor leaned forward.
“Would you be willing to provide that copy?”
“Certainly. I would want my current records reviewed first, but I have no objection to helping establish what happened.”
For the first time in several days, I felt that we were moving closer to an answer.
But Eleanor wasn’t finished.
“Mr. Ellison, do you remember Richard Voss?”
Martin’s expression changed slightly.
“Yes. He was another attorney who became involved later.”
“Did he complete the ownership arrangement?”
Martin considered the question.
“I cannot confirm that. I never received a final executed agreement.”
I looked at Eleanor.
She made a note.
That was important.
Because my family had spent years speaking about the proposed agreement as though it had already become a permanent part of the company’s ownership structure.
Now we were discovering that the available documents told a different story.
As we prepared to leave, Martin called my name.
“Sutton.”
I turned.
“I want you to understand something. You were young when this began, but the work you did was real. The company didn’t become successful because of a family arrangement. It grew because you developed the products, found customers, learned the business, and kept working when things were difficult.”
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
He smiled.
“Whatever happens next, make sure you protect the people who helped you build it. And make sure every decision is supported by proper documentation.”
On the drive back, I looked out the window.
For years, I had believed that the most important part of building a company was creating something people wanted.
I had been wrong.
Building something was only the beginning.
Protecting it required patience, clear agreements, responsible decisions, and people who were willing to tell the truth.
And now, after eighteen years, I finally had the beginning of an explanation.
But I still had one question.
Why had my father been so determined to give Fallon a business she had never helped build?
I knew I would eventually get the answer.
This time, I intended to get it from the documents rather than promises.
