People began to notice.
Meanwhile, Keane Industrial struggled.
Without the systems I’d built and maintained, delays multiplied, costs ballooned, and internal disputes between my brothers slowed decisions to a crawl, and when an audit uncovered misreported figures tied to contracts Victor had rushed through without oversight, the press coverage was swift and unforgiving.
I watched from a distance as board members resigned, investors pulled back, and my father gave a tight-lipped interview insisting everything was under control, his voice steady while the foundation cracked beneath him.
A year after his retirement party, Robert Keane called me for the first time.
“Evelyn,” he said, his tone unfamiliar without an audience,
“we need to talk.”
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