Chapter 3 - The Corridor of Reckoning
“Take five minutes,”
Cornelius Hail commanded,
his voice leaving zero room for debate.
He stood up,
towering over the table,
and looked directly at the eight lenders.
“Gentlemen,
Evelyn,
let us step into the private bar next door.
Allow Mister Chase to settle his household affairs before we determine whether Northgate still exists tomorrow morning.”
The investors did not hesitate.
They rose in unison,
their movements crisp and hurried,
eager to put distance between themselves and the wreckage.
Arthur Pendelton didn't even look at Jerome as he passed him,
stepping over the threshold into the adjacent lounge and pulling the heavy mahogany double doors shut behind them.
The lock clicked.
The sudden,
stifling solitude inside the private room felt dangerous.
Jerome turned on me instantly,
his chest heaving,
his silk necktie crooked against his collar.
“Are you out of your goddamn mind,
Leona?”
he hissed,
spitting the words through clenched teeth as he closed the distance between us.
“You just humiliated me in front of the entire financial community!
Do you have any idea what you have done?
If those lenders walk,
the Bellmore deal dies!
The stock will crater forty percent by the opening bell tomorrow!”
“The stock will crater because you spent three quarters hiding operational shortfalls,”
I said,
remaining seated,
my spine perfectly straight against the velvet chair.
“You used Drayton family pledges as collateral for unapproved bridge extensions.
Did you really think I wouldn't notice the margin calls forwarded to my personal accountant?”
Bridget was standing by the sideboard,
shivering,
her hands clutching her champagne dress as if it were armor.
“Jerome,”
she cried out,
her voice trembling with hysteria,
“tell her she’s lying!
Tell her she can’t touch Asteria!
You promised me those accounts were protected!
You promised me that once the Bellmore acquisition closed,
we would take the company private and she would have no power over us!”
I looked over at Bridget,
my expression softening into something close to pity.
“He told you that?”
I asked quietly.
“Jerome promised you freedom on money that belonged to my grandfather’s foundation?
Miss Ford,
Jerome hasn't owned an unencumbered asset since nineteen ninety-eight.
The suit he is wearing tonight was billed to my family office corporate card.
The watch on his wrist was gifted by my father when Jerome made his first junior partnership.
Every single dime he has ever spent,
invested,
or promised to his mistresses came from the trust fund that I control.”
Bridget turned her gaze toward Jerome,
her eyes wide with an agonizing realization.
“Jerome?
Is that true?”
Jerome grabbed Bridget by the arm,
his grip tight and violent,
shaking her.
“Shut up,
Bridget!
Just shut your mouth and get out of here!”
he yelled at her.
“You’re the one who lost your temper!
You’re the one who slapped her like an idiot!
I told you to sit there,
look professional,
and keep your mouth shut until the documents were signed!”
Bridget stared at him,
horrified,
pulling her arm out of his grasp.
“You told me to put her in her place!”
she screamed back at him,
all loyalty dissolving under the weight of his betrayal.
“You told me in the limousine on the way here that she was just an empty signature!
You said she was weak,
that she would sign whatever you put in front of her because she was terrified of a divorce!
You told me I was the real partner here!”
I stood up,
smoothly gathering my papers back into the black portfolio.
The leather was cool beneath my fingers.
“You were both wrong,”
I said,
walking toward the double doors.
“I am not terrified of a divorce,
May you like
Jerome.
I have spent six months preparing for it.”
