Chapter 11 - The Evaporation of Influence
Richard Cross adjusted his tortoise-shell spectacles,
staring across the scarred mahogany conference table at the man who had once been his firm’s most lucrative corporate client.
Jerome sat slumped in the vinyl swivel chair,
his designer suit jacket discarded on the floor,
his white shirt stained with dried sweat around the stiff cuffs,
and his hair falling across his forehead in greasy graying strands.
“Richard,”
Jerome rasped,
his fingers trembling as he tapped the cracked screen of his mobile phone against the glass coaster,
“there has to be an emergency credit line.
Call Julian at Deutsche Bank.
Call Robert at Citigroup.
I have played eighteen holes with those men every Sunday for six years.
They know Northgate’s underlying fundamentals are solid.
They won't let Leona freeze my personal operating accounts over a boardroom dispute.”
Richard Cross took a slow,
deliberate sip from his paper coffee cup,
set it down without a sound,
and pushed a four-page legal memorandum across the table.
“Julian’s secretary blocked your number three hours ago,
Jerome,”
Richard said,
his voice devoid of the warm deference he had shown during previous retainers.
“Robert’s executive vice president sent a formal letter to our office at noon,
notifying us that Citigroup has called your personal margin loan of twelve million dollars.
They have already seized your secondary brokerage accounts to cover the shortfall.”
Jerome’s face contorted into disbelief,
his mouth opening and closing like a landed fish gasping for air.
“They can't do that!”
he shouted,
slamming his open hand onto the table until the coffee cup rattled.
“The margin loan was secured against my Northgate equity!
The stock is recovering!
I saw the Bloomberg terminal this morning!
It jumped eighteen percent!”
“The stock jumped because Leona Drayton Chase was named Executive Chairwoman,”
Richard replied coldly,
leaning forward with his elbows on the blotter.
“The market is celebrating your removal,
Jerome.
And as for your equity,
the Drayton family trust exercised its senior lien at eight thirty this morning.
Your shares were seized,
cancelled,
and reissued to the trust under default covenants that you signed in two thousand nineteen.”
Jerome grabbed the memorandum with shaking hands,
skimming the dense legal paragraphs,
his breathing becoming shallower with every passing second.
“I signed this?”
he whispered,
his voice breaking into a dry,
horrified wheeze.
“I signed away my cure period?”
“You signed whatever Leona’s family lawyers put in front of you whenever you needed eight-figure cash injections to float your bonuses,”
Richard said,
standing up and buttoning his jacket.
“You didn't read the fine print because you assumed she would never call the debt.
You assumed she was an obedient,
passive socialite who cared more about maintaining the family reputation than protecting her capital.”
“She is my wife!”
Jerome cried out,
tears of rage finally spilling down his hollow cheeks.
“We took vows!
Twenty years!
You don't wipe out twenty years over a dinner argument!”
“She was your financier,
Jerome,”
Richard corrected him,
looking at him with something bordering on professional pity.
“And she didn't wipe you out over an argument.
She wiped you out because your assistant assaulted her in public while you were running a seven-million-dollar embezzlement scheme through the Cayman Islands.”
The door to the conference room opened,
and a junior associate stepped in,
holding an envelope with a bright red courier label.
“Mister Chase,”
the associate said nervously,
glancing between Jerome and Richard.
“The managing partner has instructed me to deliver this.
Our firm cannot represent you in the upcoming federal indictment without an immediate cash retainer of five hundred thousand dollars.”
Jerome stared at the associate,
his hand reaching instinctively into his pocket for a platinum card that was already dead plastic.
“Richard,”
Jerome pleaded,
looking up at his longtime attorney,
“you know I’m good for it.
As soon as the Bellmore dust settles—”
“The firm cannot accept promissory notes from insolvent clients,
Jerome,”
Richard interrupted smoothly,
picking up his leather briefcase.
“You have until five o'clock to clear your personal belongings from our guest office.
May you like
After that,
the building security will escort you to the street.”
