Page 109 of A Little Moore Action
I shh her, but honestly, I’d pay money to see that.
Thomas ignores the question and lifts a stack of papers from the desk. “This is the paperwork from Chase turning in his shares. It’s already signed. But its legality is contingent on you signing away daily control of Moore’s.” Thomas places that paperwork aside and presses the intercom. “George, could you come in here?”
A second later, as if waiting for the invitation (because he was), George steps into the office.
“Why the devil haven’t you fired this—”
“George is a notary, Father. And very good at his job.” Thomas picks up the other stack of papers, turning it toward Stan. “I’ve marked the places where you need to sign and initial. Starting here.” He points to a spot on the page.
Stan glares at George for a moment more. George remains impassive as ever.
“Hmph.” Stan pulls a gold pen from his suit pocket before ignoring George and focusing on Thomas. “Great work, Thomas. I knew you would do amazing things for the company, but I didn’t know you could get your wayward brother out of the picture so efficiently.” He pats Thomas on the back. “I should’ve though. You’re just like me.”
Too busy leaning over the contract, Stan doesn’t see Thomas’s face. And as Stan’s words don’t have their usual effect on me, I’m not too busy licking my wounds not to see the sick expression Thomas has trouble suppressing. Being compared to Stanley Moore would do that to anyone.
Hopefully, what I have planned for after we finally oust Stan will make up for all the shit-eating he’s had to do this past month.
With a final flourish of his gaudy pen, Stan straightens from the desk. “There. Now we can take care of Chase’s shares.”
Thomas holds up a hand. “One moment.”
George steps forward and notarizes the paperwork. “I’ll just go file these, sir,” he says to Thomas before walking out.
Once the door closes behind George, Stan reaches for the second contract. My father, the man whose blood runs through my veins, eagerly leans down to sign away my birthright from me with a large smile on his face.
This is going to be so satisfying.
He turns the first page, only to still. “It’s blank.” He rifles through the rest of the pages. “They’re all blank.”
“Hmmm,” is all Thomas says.
“Really, Thomas, you need to be more on top of things now that you’re in control. Your father doesn’t want the income from his shares slipping due to bad management.” It’s obvious to everyone who’s not Stan that Denise meansshedoesn’t want less money to spend.
“Fix this, Thomas.” The old man’s voice is steely. “Now.”
Thomas’s placid expression breaks for a moment with a look of smug satisfaction. “Iamfixing this, Father. I’ve been fixing it for quite some time.” He nods in our direction—our signal.
Bell pulls the closet door open, revealing us inside.
“What the—”
A loud pounding on the door cuts him off.
“Come in,” Thomas calls.
A group of men enter the room, some in New York police uniforms, others in suits. As do my mother and Leslie, Bell’s lawyer friend from Texas.
Leslie speaks up first. “Stanley Moore”—she hands him a manila envelope—“you have been served.”
“What’s this?”
“Divorce papers.” Mom, looking every Chanel-clad inch like the New York princess she was born, sneers at her husband.
Then she flips Denise the bird.
Everyone, including me, gapes at the gesture.
A suit speaks up next. “Stanley Moore, you are under arrest for embezzlement.”
