Chapter 3 - The Hold
Mara Bell answered on the second ring, and I heard the hiss of the espresso machine at her apartment.
“Claire? Aren't you supposed to be on a plane?”
“Listen carefully. Activate the emergency lock on Harborlight. The two-person approval clause. Do it before you call me back.”
The silence on her end lasted half a heartbeat. Mara was my cofounder and the only other person in the world who knew the code.
“Are you safe?” she asked.
“Not yet.”
“Say the phrase.”
“North pier after rain.”
Mara's chair scraped. “I'm on it.”
Grant stormed toward me through the wreckage. “Give me that phone.”
I stepped behind the marble island. “Touch me again and I'll call the police before I call my lawyer.”
“She's unstable,” Evelyn told Walter, apparently confident that saying it made it true.
Walter wouldn't meet my eyes. He looked at the torn folder and then at his oldest son.
Grant held up both hands, all practiced charm. “Honey, let's talk upstairs.”
“Why?” I asked. “So there won't be witnesses?”
Miles flinched.
A chime sounded from Grant's phone. He checked it. The muscles in his face went slack.
“Account access suspended,” he read under his breath.
Mara had done it. Under our bylaws, no equity change, collateral pledge, or transfer of control could be processed while a verified coercion report was under review. We wrote the clause after a developer tried to pressure one of our first investors into a midnight signature.
I never imagined needing it on my honeymoon morning.
Grant turned back, suddenly careful. “This is a misunderstanding.”
“Then explain the waiver.”
“You're blowing up millions over one stupid form.”
“Whose millions?”
He didn't answer. Instead he reached for the folder Miles had tried to hide. I lunged for it too. My fingers caught the corner; paper spilled over the island.
On the top page was a loan application to a private lender. Harborlight's waterfront property was listed as collateral.
Mara and I had written Harborlight's first operating agreement at a plastic folding table above a tire shop. The printer jammed every twenty pages. We laughed so hard at two in the morning that the landlord threatened to lock us out.
A signature had already been added at the bottom.
May you like
My signature.
Except I hadn't signed it.
