Chương 10
“To Meridian Strategic?”
“Yes.”
“For the Northline assets?”
“Yes.”
“That Jason owns.”
“Apparently.”
I closed my eyes.
“That’s not necessarily illegal.”
“No.”
“Disclosed?”
“We don’t know.”
“Approved?”
“We don’t know.”
“Fair value?”
“We definitely don’t know.”
Leah’s voice became careful.
“But we found something else.”
The car turned onto Queens Boulevard.
“What?”
“The Northline software valuation in Cole Meridian’s original acquisition file.”
I waited.
“It was seven-point-four million dollars.”
I opened my eyes.
“And Jason’s company just received seventeen million?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That’s what everyone is about to ask.”
Mom glanced over.
I looked down at the broken locket in her clear belongings bag.
A terrible thought arrived with perfect clarity.
Jason’s cruelty at the Plaza might not have been the worst thing he had done.
It might only have been the loudest.
At one o’clock, I sat three floors below the Vance Global boardroom in a conference room that smelled faintly of dry-erase marker and overbrewed coffee.
Leah sat across from me with two legal pads, three phones, and the expression of a person attempting to keep several expensive fires from discovering one another.
“You understand why you’re here and not upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Say it anyway.”
“I am recused from the independent review of Cole Meridian because my marriage, financial interests, and conduct last night create obvious conflicts.”
“Good.”
“You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy hearing clients say accurate things before I have to say them.”
Mom was back at her apartment with Anthony under strict instructions not to answer the door for reporters.
She had violated one instruction already by calling me to ask whether Anthony preferred tuna salad or egg salad for lunch.
I told her this was why witness protection programs had rules.
She told me I was not funny.
Then she made both.
My own lunch sat untouched beside Leah’s laptop.
At 1:17, the conference-room door opened.
Daniel stepped in.
His tie was crooked, and there was a coffee stain on his shirt cuff.
That bothered me more than it should have.
Daniel Cho did not spill coffee.
“What happened?”
He shut the door.
“The independent directors suspended all new Vance-controlled commitments to Cole Meridian pending review.”
“Existing facility?”
“No acceleration.”
“Good.”
“They also requested an outside forensic accounting firm.”
“Also good.”
Daniel looked at Leah.
She gave a small nod.
He sat.
“There’s another issue.”
I almost laughed.
“Of course there is.”
“Rachel’s counsel delivered documents.”
“How many?”
“A lot.”
“That is not a number.”
“Enough that I stopped counting.”
Leah slid one legal pad toward him.
“What matters first?”
Daniel rubbed his eyes.
“The seventeen million didn’t stay in Meridian Strategic.”
My shoulders tightened.
“Where did it go?”
“Three destinations.”
He looked at me before continuing.
“Eight million went to Northline’s former owners under a software purchase agreement.”
“That’s close to the original valuation.”
“Yes.”
“So the remaining nine?”
“Four million went to a private investment vehicle.”
“Whose?”
“We’re still tracing beneficial ownership.”
“And five?”
Daniel hesitated.
“That went to Cole Family 2022 Trust.”
I stared at him.
“Jason’s trust.”
“Apparently.”
Leah lifted one finger.
“Careful.”
“The trust associated with Jason’s family,” I corrected.
“Better.”
I pushed the untouched sandwich farther away.
“What explanation did Cole Meridian give?”
“They say Meridian Strategic is entitled to licensing revenue and repayment of advances made when it acquired the Northline assets.”
“Was any five-million-dollar advance made by the family trust?”
“We have not seen evidence of one.”
“Then why send it five million?”
“We don’t know.”
That phrase had become the soundtrack of my life.
I stood and walked to the window.
From thirty-eight floors above Midtown, traffic looked orderly.
Tiny yellow cabs moved along avenues in neat currents.
People became easier to understand when you were too far away to see them.
“Has Jason’s counsel responded?”
Leah glanced at her phone.
“They say all related-party transactions were lawful, commercially reasonable, and known to appropriate company personnel.”
“Rachel says she lied about the entity.”
“Yes.”
“Did she approve the payment?”
“No.”
“Board?”
“Unclear.”
“Outside counsel?”
“Also unclear.”
I turned.
“How is that possible?”
Daniel gave me a tired look.
“Because companies are mostly people emailing documents they assume someone else read.”
That sounded depressingly plausible.
Leah tapped her pen.
“We also need to separate several questions.”
“Go ahead.”
“Was the transaction properly disclosed?”
I nodded.
“Was it properly approved?”
“Yes.”
“Was the pricing fair?”
“Yes.”
“Were funds diverted for personal benefit?”
“Yes.”
“And separately, did anyone make false statements to lenders or directors?”
I sat down again.
“Right.”
“These are not the same problem.”
“I know.”
“They may eventually connect.”
“I know.”
“But we do not turn suspicion into a narrative because the narrative feels satisfying.”
I looked at her.
“You and my mother should start a club.”
“She can be president.”
“She already would be.”
Daniel’s phone buzzed.
He checked it.
His face changed.
“What?”
He rotated the screen toward Leah.
She read silently.
Then she swore.
“What?”
Leah looked at me.
“Someone leaked the internal valuation.”
My stomach dropped.
“Northline?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We don’t know.”
“Where?”
“Financial press.”
Daniel opened an article.
The headline was worse than I expected.
Cole Meridian CEO Paid Seventeen Million for Software Valued Internally at Less Than Half That Amount.
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
The article cited unnamed sources familiar with lender materials.
My name appeared by the fourth paragraph.
Vance Global appeared by the second.
“Who spoke to them?”
“We are not guessing,” Leah said.
“They have the seven-point-four figure.”
“Yes.”
“Only a limited group had it.”
“Yes.”
“Could Rachel have leaked it?”
“Possibly.”
“Daniel?”
“Possibly.”
“The board?”
“Possibly.”
“Cole Meridian?”
“Also possibly.”
I threw my hands up.
“Excellent.”
Leah leaned back.
“Welcome to investigations.”
My phone lit up.
Jason.
I almost ignored it.
Then a message appeared.
We need to talk about our son before this gets worse.
Everything inside me changed direction.
Our son.
Not Cole Meridian.
Not Vance Global.
Not the Plaza.
May you like
Evan.
He had spent the previous night with Jason’s sister, Claire, because the christening reception had been expected to run late.
