Chương 11
Samantha looked at me.
I put him on speaker.
“First, North Creek Hospitality Partners was formed four months ago.”
“Greg told me that.”
“Good.”
“Who owns it?”
“The public filing lists a manager, not all members.”
“Who is the manager?”
“Darren Cole.”
“The Napa developer?”
“Yes.”
Michael paused.
“I also found a financing memorandum attached to an investor presentation that appears to have been circulated privately.”
“How did you get that?”
“Elaine Foster forwarded it to me.”
Samantha’s head came up.
“Elaine?”
“She called my office about twenty minutes ago.”
I almost laughed from sheer exhaustion.
“Of course she did.”
“She is frightened.”
“That makes two of us.”
“I’d like to make it three.”
I closed my eyes.
“Go ahead.”
“The presentation identifies the target site as an eighty-acre vineyard estate with phased control anticipated through family transfer.”
Samantha stopped moving.
I looked at her.
Her face had gone pale.
“Eighty acres?”
“Yes.”
Michael continued carefully.
“It describes an initial thirty-six-acre development footprint with an option structure for future acquisition of the remaining acreage.”
My hand flattened against the table.
“Option from whom?”
“That is unclear.”
“Because I never agreed to one.”
“I know.”
Samantha whispered, “Oh my God.”
Michael heard her.
“Is Samantha there?”
“Yes.”
“Then she should hear the next part.”
She leaned closer to the phone.
“What?”
“The document says the project sponsor expects favorable control terms because the beneficiary of the family transfer is aligned with the sponsor.”
Samantha stared at the table.
“What does that mean?”
“It suggests whoever wrote the document believed you would support North Creek’s plan once you controlled the transferred land.”
“I didn’t even know North Creek existed.”
“That is important.”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
I asked, “Who wrote the presentation?”
“The cover page says prepared by Cole Development Advisory.”
“And Greg?”
“He is listed as project finance lead.”
Samantha made a small sound.
Not a gasp.
Something flatter.
Like air leaving a tire.
Michael continued.
“There’s also a section titled capital strategy.”
“What does it say?”
“North Creek expected to use investor equity for planning and acquisition costs, then secure a development loan if entitlements progressed.”
“And my vineyard numbers?”
“I’m getting there.”
He shuffled something.
“The financial appendix includes operating figures for your vineyard.”
I felt my stomach tighten.
“What kind of figures?”
“Revenue trends, debt service, projected maintenance capital, estimated land value, and what they call owner liquidity pressure.”
I stared at the phone.
“Owner liquidity pressure?”
“Yes.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“In this context, they argue that you may become increasingly motivated to monetize underperforming acreage because of debt and deferred capital needs.”
Samantha looked at me.
“Are we in trouble?”
“No.”
I answered too quickly.
Michael did not rescue me.
“Andrea.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Not immediate trouble.”
“What does that mean?” Samantha asked.
I looked at her.
“The vineyard is healthy.”
“That sounds like a brochure.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“You are definitely your father’s daughter.”
“Mom.”
“We carry debt.”
“How much cash do you have?”
“That is not the same question.”
“It kind of is.”
Michael intervened.
“Let’s separate two issues.”
His voice had become firmer.
“Operational debt does not mean insolvency.”
“Thank you.”
“But Andrea, some of the figures in this appendix are not numbers you gave Greg.”
I stopped.
“What?”
“There are current reserve estimates and projected debt covenant ratios.”
I felt cold again.
“I never showed him those.”
“Who has them?”
“My accountant.”
“Anyone else?”
“The bank.”
“Employees?”
“No.”
“Bookkeeper?”
“Yes, but not covenant projections.”
Samantha whispered, “Could he have gotten them from your computer?”
I looked toward the study.
“No.”
Then I remembered something.
Greg had spent an afternoon in the study three months earlier.
He said he needed a quiet place for a client call because Samantha was meeting with the wedding planner in the stone house.
I had been outside with Ben.
Greg was alone for almost two hours.
The thought made my skin prickle.
“Maybe.”
Michael caught the hesitation.
“What?”
“He used my study once.”
“Was your computer unlocked?”
“I don’t know.”
“Do you use a password?”
“Yes.”
“Written anywhere?”
“No.”
Samantha looked away.
“What?”
She shook her head.
“Samantha.”
Her eyes came back to mine.
“He knows your birthday.”
“My password is not my birthday.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not saying it on speakerphone.”
Michael said, “Good.”
She swallowed.
“I’ve seen him unlock your laptop.”
I stared at her.
“When?”
“At Christmas.”
“That was months ago.”
“You asked him to print something.”
The memory came slowly.
A shipping label.
I had ordered a sweater for my sister and needed to return it.
Greg volunteered.
I gave him the password.
I had not changed it afterward.
Michael said, “Change every password now.”
“And do not use that computer for anything sensitive until someone examines it.”
“You think he stole files?”
“I think we should not guess.”
His restraint irritated me because it was sensible.
“What else is in the presentation?”
“There’s a risk section.”
I almost laughed.
“I’d love to hear it.”
“One risk is described as owner resistance.”
My mouth went dry.
Samantha looked at me.
“Owner means you?”
“Yes.”
Michael continued.
“The mitigation strategy says resistance may be reduced through beneficiary alignment and near-term liquidity incentives.”
For several seconds, no one spoke.
I finally said, “Translate.”
“It appears they expected Samantha to persuade you and believed financial pressure might make you more receptive.”
Samantha pushed back from the table.
Her chair scraped hard against the floor.
“I never agreed to any of this.”
“I believe you,” I said.
She turned on me.
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“How can you?”
“Because you’re a terrible liar.”
The words were out before I could stop them.
She stared at me.
Then, absurdly, she laughed.
Once.
Wet-eyed and furious.
“That’s mean.”
“It’s also true.”
She wiped her face.
Michael cleared his throat softly through the speaker.
“I’m going to pretend I’m not here for that.”
Samantha sat again.
Her hands were trembling.
May you like
“What do I do?”
Michael answered carefully.
