Reincarnated With the Ultimate Son-in-law System

Chapter 9

Michael arrived at his father's mansion as dusk settled across the manicured grounds. Eric's Aston Martin was already parked near the entrance.

"So he's already here," Michael muttered, checking his watch. The emergency call had come less than thirty minutes ago.

Henderson opened the door before Michael could knock. "Good evening, Mr. Michael. Your father and brother are waiting in the study."

"Thank you. How long has Eric been here?"

"Approximately forty-five minutes, sir," Henderson replied, his expression neutral.

Michael approached the study, hearing raised voices through the partially open door.

"—cannot believe you would be so careless with company funds!" Richard's voice carried, unusually sharp.

"Father, I've explained—" Eric began.

"Save it," Richard cut him off. "Michael's here."

Michael entered to find his father standing behind his desk, Eric seated opposite with visible tension in his posture.

"You wanted to see me, Father?"

Richard nodded grimly. "Sit down. We have a serious situation."

Michael took the chair beside Eric, noting his brother's tight smile. "Financial irregularities in the Westside project?"

"Among others," Richard confirmed, lowering himself into his chair with a slight wince. "But first, there's something I need to tell you both."

He retrieved a medical file from his desk drawer. "I've been diagnosed with cardiac arrhythmia. Nothing immediately life-threatening, but it requires monitoring and has prompted me to accelerate certain succession plans."

Michael felt a chill. This was the exact condition that had begun his father's decline in the previous timeline.

"Father, why didn't you tell us sooner?" Eric asked, leaning forward with seemingly genuine concern.

"Because it wasn't relevant until now," Richard replied curtly. "I mention it only because it relates to the decisions I'm about to make."

He turned his monitor toward them. "These are transfers from the Westside Development budget. Four-point-two million dollars in 'consulting fees' paid to shell companies that lead to offshore accounts in the Caymans."

Eric shifted uncomfortably. "As I was explaining, the development required specialized consultants. The payment structure was recommended by our legal team—"

"Stop," Richard interrupted, holding up his hand. "I've already spoken with legal. No one authorized this payment structure."

Michael watched his brother's face, noting the subtle tightening around his eyes—a tell Eric had never controlled when caught in a lie.

"There must be some mistake," Eric insisted.

"The mistake was thinking these transactions wouldn't be discovered," Richard said firmly. "Which is why, effective immediately, I'm appointing Michael as temporary Chief Operating Officer of Crawford Enterprises, with full oversight of all divisional finances."

This had never happened in Michael's previous timeline. His father had kept Eric in power, believing his protestations of innocence until it was too late.

"Father, that's completely unnecessary," Eric protested. "If there are concerns about the financial oversight, we can implement additional reporting structures without such a dramatic reorganization."

Richard's expression hardened. "My decision is final. Michael's division has shown impeccable financial management, and his Smart Buildings Initiative demonstrates exactly the kind of innovative yet prudent thinking we need."

"What about my division?" Eric demanded, his composure slipping.

"Your division continues under your leadership, but with Michael's oversight on all financial matters until I'm satisfied our controls are secure."

Michael finally spoke. "Father, I appreciate your confidence. I'll do everything necessary to protect the company."

"I know you will, son," Richard nodded approvingly. "We'll announce the change tomorrow. For now, let's have dinner."

During the uncomfortable silence of dinner, Michael observed the quick glance Eric exchanged with Henderson—a look loaded with unspoken communication.

Midway through the meal, Eric raised his glass. "A toast to Michael, who has always been the model of prudence. If anyone can straighten out our financial controls, it's him."

Henderson appeared with a bottle of Macallan scotch. "The 25-year, sir, as you requested."

Michael watched as the $300-per-glass scotch was poured. Eric lifted his glass, a muscle twitching at the corner of his eye, his knuckles white around the crystal tumbler.

"To Michael," Eric repeated. "Crawford Enterprises couldn't be in better hands."

"To Michael," Richard echoed, pleased by Eric's apparent acceptance.

"Thank you, Eric. Your support means everything," Michael replied, never breaking eye contact with his brother.

After dinner, Michael drove to his secret apartment rather than home to Katherine. When he arrived, he heard Rebecca's voice arguing on the phone from the shared lab down the hall.

"I don't care what your board says!" she shouted. "The neurological regeneration therapy isn't ready for human trials. The animal studies show potential neurotoxicity at higher doses!"

After a pause: "No, I will not compromise safety standards! These treatments alter neural pathways—there's no room for cutting corners!"

Another pause. "Fine. Pull the funding. I'll find another way."

Michael knocked on the lab door after hearing the phone clatter down.

"What?" Rebecca snapped, yanking the door open. Her expression shifted from anger to surprise. "Oh. Coffee guy. What do you want?"

"Just checking if you're okay. Heard your conversation. Funding troubles?"

She ran a hand through her disheveled hair. "My research funding was just cut. Apparently, patient safety is less important than quarterly profit projections."

"Your neural pathway regeneration therapy? The one that could reverse brain damage?"

Rebecca's eyes widened. "How do you know about that?"

"The paper you dropped when we collided," Michael recovered. "The potential applications were fascinating."

"Well, fascinating or not, it's dead in the water. Neuro-Gen pulled my funding because I refused to rush into human trials."

"Something that important will find funding elsewhere," Michael offered.

"Do you have any idea how specialized this research is? How few companies invest in early-stage neurological treatments?"

"Actually, I might. My family's company has a pharmaceutical division."

"Not interested," Rebecca cut him off. "I've had enough of corporate funding with strings attached."

Michael respected her position. "Fair enough. But if you change your mind, the offer stands."

Just past midnight, a cry of frustration penetrated the wall. Michael opened his door to find Rebecca storming down the hallway, tablet in hand, face contorted with rage.

"Those absolute bastards!" she shouted. "They didn't just cut my funding—they corrupted my research files!"

"What do you mean?"

"See for yourself," she thrust the tablet toward him, displaying incomprehensible code where data should have been. "Every backup, every cloud storage file—all encrypted with malware."

Michael's enhanced perception focused on the encryption signature buried in the code—Crawford Pharmaceuticals' proprietary security protocol.

"This is industrial sabotage," Rebecca continued, voice shaking. "They've stolen years of my work and didn't even bother hiding their tracks!"

Michael zoomed in, confirming what he already knew. The signature matched his brother's division perfectly.

Rebecca pointed to it. "Crawford Pharmaceuticals. Your family's company, right, 'coffee guy'? What a coincidence that you show up offering help just as they're stealing my research!"

"Rebecca," he said carefully. "I swear I had nothing to do with this. But I think I know who did and I can help you get your research back."

"Why should I trust you?"

"Because," Michael replied grimly, "it looks like we have a common enemy."