Chapter 6 - SEVENTY-TWO HOURS
Marcus arrived at my office without an appointment.
Security stopped him downstairs.
He refused to leave.
So I went down.
Not because he deserved access.
Because I wanted the conversation witnessed.
Maya came with me.
Marcus stood in the lobby wearing the same expensive coat he wore to Thanksgiving.
He looked different inside it.
“Two point four million.”
He said.
No hello.
“No.”
“You haven’t heard the proposal.”
“No.”
“Alexandra.”
“You have seventy-one hours.”
His jaw tightened.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“Mom and Dad can lose their house.”
“They chose to pledge it.”
“You know they didn’t understand.”
“Neither did Jennifer.”
He glanced at Maya.
“This is family business.”
“No.”
I said.
“It became lender business when you borrowed.”
His face reddened.
“Do you know what happens if Harborstone accelerates?”
“Yes.”
“Three projects collapse.”
“Yes.”
“Twenty-seven people lose jobs.”
“Possibly.”
“My investors get wiped.”
“Possibly.”
“Mom and Dad—”
“No.”
I held up one hand.
“Do not use them as your argument.”
“You can stop this with a wire.”
“And then?”
He stared.
“What?”
“What happens in six months?”
“The Riverside project stabilizes.”
“Maybe.”
“It will.”
“What happens if construction runs over?”
Silence.
“What if your tenant leaves?”
Silence.
“What if rates change?”
Silence.
“Do I write another check?”
Marcus whispered:
“You have no idea how real business works.”
That almost made Maya laugh.
I smiled.
“You told me my career wasn’t real four days ago.”
He looked away.
Then his anger broke.
Just for a second.
“I’m scared.”
There.
Not brother.
Not developer.
A man who had built his identity around never looking scared.
“How bad?”
He sat.
“Worse than the documents.”
Of course.
“How much worse?”
“My partner moved money.”
I frowned.
“What partner?”
“Owen Price.”
I knew the name.
Marcus’s college roommate.
Co-founder of Bennett Urban Partners.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try.”
“Maybe nine hundred thousand.”
Maya’s expression changed.
“Stolen?”
“I think so.”
“Why didn’t you report it?”
Marcus stared at the floor.
“Because investors would panic.”
“So you borrowed more.”
“Yes.”
“Then used Dad’s house.”
“Yes.”
“Jennifer’s office.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
“And me.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
There it was.
Not evil mastermind.
Something more familiar.
A proud man covering one problem with another until truth became unaffordable.
“What did Owen say?”
“That the money went to construction.”
“Did it?”
“No.”
“Where?”
“Shell vendors.”
Maya leaned forward.
“Have you preserved records?”
“Yes.”
“Do not contact him.”
Marcus looked at me.
“If I report this, everything comes out.”
“Yes.”
“Lenders.”
“Yes.”
“Investors.”
“Yes.”
“Jennifer.”
“She already knows enough.”
He flinched.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“No.”
I meant it.
Watching Marcus shrink did not make Thanksgiving disappear.
Then he asked:
“If I report Owen, will you help?”
That was a different question.
“Define help.”
“Not money.”
Good start.
“Your lawyers.”
“I won’t pay your defense.”
“Forensics?”
“Maybe.”
“Restructuring?”
“If professionals believe the underlying assets are viable.”
Hope entered his face.
I stopped it.
“One condition.”
“What?”
“Full disclosure.”
“To who?”
“Everyone.”
He stared.
“Harborstone.”
“Jennifer.”
“Mom and Dad.”
“Your investors.”
“And investigators if theft occurred.”
Marcus swallowed.
“That could destroy me.”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“Lying is already doing that.”
He left with Maya’s list.
Two hours later, Caroline came into my office.
“Owen Price.”
“What?”
“We ran him.”
“And?”
“He transferred approximately $1.1 million from Bennett Urban Partners to three vendor entities.”
Marcus had underestimated.
“Can we identify owners?”
Caroline turned her laptop.
Two entities connected to Owen.
The third—
registered to Jennifer Bennett.
I stared.
“That can’t be right.”
Jennifer knew nothing about the loan.
Why would she own one of Owen’s shell vendors?
Then Caroline opened the formation document.
Jennifer’s signature appeared at the bottom.
May you like
And once again—
it was not hers.
