Part 5
“What did he promise you?”
Mark looked up.
“Nothing.”
“Then why?”
“He said the company would be torn apart if the family lost control.”
“I control it.”
“You aren’t family to them.”
The sentence escaped him before he could soften it.
Mara waited.
Mark’s eyes filled with regret.
“I didn’t mean—”
“You did.”
“I meant that they don’t see you that way.”
“And you?”
He did not answer.
Mara pressed the intercom and asked security to escort Mark to a private conference room. His system access was suspended before he left her office.
He stood at the door with his shoulders lowered.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Mara believed him.
That changed nothing.
By noon, the construction lender for Mercer Crown’s largest project had suspended a seven-million-dollar draw. The money was scheduled to cover payroll and subcontractor invoices at a mixed-use tower in Brooklyn.
The lender cited uncertainty in executive authority.
Mara called three times. The first two calls went to voicemail. On the third, a deputy credit officer told her the bank needed evidence that the board’s action would survive a legal challenge.
“How long?” she asked.
“We’re assessing.”
“Seven hundred people are expecting payment Friday.”
“I understand.”
“No. You understand that I called. You don’t understand what happens when a concrete contractor misses payroll.”
The deputy lowered his voice.
“Our committee meets tomorrow.”
“Move it.”
“I can’t.”
“Then find someone who can.”
She ended the call and immediately regretted the sharpness. Regret did not make the money available.
At one, she changed out of the gown.
Her assistant brought a navy suit, flat shoes, and a toiletry bag from a department store across the avenue. The assistant, Chloe, tried not to look at Mara’s cheek and therefore looked at it constantly.
“You can ask,” Mara said.
Chloe’s face reddened.
“Did he—”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
Chloe nodded and placed the suit over the back of the sofa.
“People are saying things.”
“People always say things.”
“They’re saying you planned the whole party.”
Mara unfastened one diamond earring.
“Do they think I planned the slap?”
“Some of them think you knew he would lose control.”
Mara placed the earring on the desk.
There it was again: the strange public belief that a woman who understood a man’s behavior must therefore be responsible for it.
“Who is saying it inside the company?” she asked.
Chloe hesitated.
“Mostly people are repeating what they saw online.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“Two people from investor relations. Someone in acquisitions. Peter Mercer’s assistant sent a message to a group chat.”
“Forward it to Ben.”
Chloe remained by the sofa.
“Mara?”
“Yes?”
“Why didn’t anyone help you?”
Mara looked at her.
Chloe was twenty-six. She had joined the company eight months earlier and still believed senior executives knew what to do in emergencies.
“They were afraid of choosing the wrong side,” Mara said.
“Was there a wrong side?”
“Yes.”
The construction site in Brooklyn smelled of wet concrete and diesel.
Mara arrived shortly after four. The wind off the river moved through the unfinished tower and lifted strands of her hair across her face.
The project manager, Darius Cole, met her beside the temporary elevators.
He had already heard about the frozen draw.
“Friday payroll is covered,” he said. “The week after is the problem.”
“I’m working on it.”
“That phrase frightens me when executives use it.”
“It frightens me too.”
Darius glanced at her cheek, then focused on the plans in his hand.
He had known Mara for nine years and had never asked a personal question.
“Do you need anything?” he said.
“An accurate cash requirement by six.”
“You’ll have it by five.”
They walked the twenty-second floor. Electricians worked near the core. A foreman argued with a supplier over missing conduit. Nobody stopped because the company’s controlling shareholder had been slapped by its suspended president.
The building still needed pipes.
People still needed checks.
A man in a reflective vest pushed a cart around Mara and apologized without recognizing her.
She found the normality comforting.
At the eastern edge of the floor, Darius showed her where curtain-wall installation had fallen three days behind.
“Wind,” he said. “And the panels from Pennsylvania failed inspection.”
“Why?”
“Wrong sealant.”
“Can they be corrected?”
“They can be corrected if the supplier wants to keep the contract.”
Mara looked across the river toward Manhattan.
From there, the towers seemed close enough to touch. Somewhere among them was the penthouse where Julian had likely spent the day telling people she had destroyed him.
Darius folded the plans.
“My ex-wife threw a wine bottle at me once,” he said.
Mara looked at him.
“It missed,” he added. “Broke a television I hated.”
She waited.
“I didn’t tell anyone for a year,” he said. “Thought they’d ask what I’d done to make her throw it.”
“Did they?”
“Some did.”
A drilling machine started behind them.
Darius raised his voice.
“I’m not comparing things. Just saying people get stupid about what happens in marriages.”
Mara watched two workers guide a steel frame into place.
“Thank you,” she said.
Darius nodded, embarrassed by his own kindness.
At 5:18, Ben called.
Julian had filed for an emergency injunction in state court seeking restoration to his executive role. His petition claimed Mara had manipulated the board through false allegations arising from a marital disagreement.
Vivienne had submitted an affidavit stating that Mara had threatened for months to eliminate the Mercer family’s influence.
A hearing was scheduled for the following afternoon.
“They moved quickly,” Mara said.
“They were ready.”
The words settled between them.
The transfer documents had not been improvised for the party. Neither had the legal response.
Julian and Vivienne had expected resistance.
Mara returned to the office and met with outside counsel until nearly midnight. She slept for two hours on the sofa, woke with a crease across her face, and spent ten confused seconds wondering why she was not at home.
May you like
Then she remembered.
Her phone contained thirty-seven messages from Julian.
