Chapter 4 - The Default of the Dynasty
The silence inside the boardroom was deafening, broken only by the hum of the air conditioning unit. Harrison sat back down, his body suddenly looking small and defeated in his expensive suit.
"What do you want, Claire?" he asked, his voice hollow, his arrogant posture completely gone. "You want to humiliate us? You want to watch us go under?"
"I don't need to watch you go under, Harrison," I said, opening my briefcase and pulling out a single sheet of paper. "You’ve already done that to yourselves. The thirty-two million-dollar balance on this building is due in full because you violated Section 12 of the mortgage agreement—the clause regarding regulatory compliance. The state housing freeze on your riverfront project constitutes a material default under the terms of the plaza’s secondary mezzanine loan."
"We can fight the freeze," Harrison muttered. "We have lawyers."
"Your lawyers haven't been paid in sixty days, Harrison," Arthur Vance noted dryly. "And the firm representing you just filed a motion to withdraw from all active litigation due to non-payment of retainers."
Harrison looked at his mother, but Patricia had turned away, her head lowered, her hands trembling as she clutched her cream cashmere coat as if it were the only shield she had left against the cold reality of her new life.
"I am offering you one way out, Harrison," I said, sliding the single sheet of paper across the table to him. "A structured surrender."
"A surrender?"
"You will sign over the remaining forty-nine percent of Voss Enterprises to Astraeus Holdings," I said, my voice steady and unyielding. "In exchange, I will assume the company's outstanding debts to the sub-contractors and the local suppliers. I will protect the payroll for the sixty field workers who are currently working on your construction sites. And I will not file the criminal referral for the forged treasurer signatures with the federal banking commission."
Harrison’s head snapped up. "A criminal referral?"
"The fifty-two thousand dollars you diverted from the corporate reserve account to fund your mother's private offshore tax trust," I said. "You forged my digital authorization signature on the wire transfer. I have the IP logs, the digital certificate trace, and the affidavit from the bank compliance desk. In Minnesota, that is a Class C felony with a mandatory minimum sentence of forty-eight months."
Harrison’s eyes darted to his mother, then back to the document. He looked like a cornered animal realizing that the fence was ten feet high and made of solid steel.
"And my mother?" Harrison whispered. "Where is she supposed to live? The Lake Minnetonka house is tied to the corporate debt. If you take the company, you take the house."
"Patricia will have forty-eight hours to vacate the Minnetonka property," I said, looking directly at my ex-mother-in-law. "I have already purchased a modest, two-bedroom townhouse in Saint Paul under a private trust. The rent will be covered by the trust for twelve months. After that, Patricia, you will have to rely on your own retirement income. Or perhaps you can sell some of those Cartier necklaces you bought with my credit card."
May you like
Patricia let out a sharp, choked sob, turning her face toward the window to hide her tears from the board members she had spent decades looking down upon.
"Sign the document, Harrison," I said, passing him a heavy gold pen—the very pen he had used to sign our divorce decree twenty-four hours earlier. "Or we can let the federal authorities handle the transition tomorrow morning."
