Chapter 2 - The First Call
Adrian answered with a smirk still on his face.
It disappeared in less than ten seconds.
“What do you mean, suspended?” he snapped.
A second phone began ringing on the console. Then the tablet beside the flowers lit up with three banking alerts.
Vanessa looked from the screens to me. “What did you do?”
I pushed myself up using the edge of the table. My legs shook, but I stayed standing.
Adrian turned away from us. “No. No, you don’t freeze a corporate facility without notice. Put Martin on.”
He listened.
His face turned gray.
“Martin resigned?”
Another call came through. He switched lines.
“David, slow down. Which investors?”
A pause.
“All of them?”
Vanessa stopped touching her stomach.
I picked up the divorce folder and closed it.
Adrian stared at me. “Who is your father?”
“Now you care?”
“Claire.” His voice cracked like a whip. “Who is he?”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Dad appeared.
VALE MERIDIAN CREDIT LINES RECALLED. BOARD EMERGENCY SESSION IN 20 MINUTES. SECURITY TEAM EN ROUTE TO YOU.
Vanessa moved closer to Adrian. “This is a stunt. She can’t do this.”
I looked at her. “I didn’t.”
“Then who?”
“My family.”
Adrian’s phone rang again.
This time the caller ID showed HAWTHORNE CAPITAL.
He looked at me before answering.
Hawthorne Capital was the invisible hand behind most of his biggest deals. Adrian had spent years trying to meet its chairman and had failed every time.
“Mr. Bell?” he said carefully.
The voice on speaker was cold enough to cut glass.
“Mr. Vale, Hawthorne Capital is terminating all discretionary support to Vale Meridian effective immediately. Our legal department will send documentation.”
Adrian swallowed. “On whose authority?”
“Chairman Hawthorne.”
Vanessa whispered, “Hawthorne?”
Adrian’s eyes locked on mine.
The front gates outside opened.
Three black SUVs rolled up the drive.
I heard the front door unlock from the security panel.
Adrian moved toward me. “Claire, tell me your father’s name.”
Before I could answer, the doors opened and six men in dark suits entered.
The man in front was seventy, silver-haired, and still carried himself like the former federal prosecutor he had once been.
Adrian recognized him from magazine covers.
Everyone in American finance did.
Thomas Hawthorne looked at the bruises on my arms.
Then he looked at Adrian.
“My daughter,” he said quietly, “gave you three years to prove me wrong.”
May you like
His gaze dropped to the riding crop.
“You just proved her wrong instead.”
