Chapter 13 - Friday's Deadline
Friday left us seventy-two hours.
Nina and the board's financial advisers worked around the clock.
The problem was no longer just a quarrel over ownership.
The company faced genuine liquidity pressure.
Hotels needed payroll.
Vendors needed payment.
Families depended on those checks clearing.
I asked Martin Keene how bad the cash forecast looked.
He didn't soften the answer.
"If the lender accelerates, we could lose months trying to stabilize."
I wanted to blame everything on Dad.
But that wouldn't pay a single employee.
The board formed an independent committee to review financing alternatives.
I recused myself from decisions involving my employment and the pending litigation.
For the first time, Dad saw that I wasn't trying to replace one autocrat with another.
I wanted the rules applied to everyone.
Even me.
We contacted established lenders and possible investors.
None could offer a painless solution.
Some demanded assets at bargain prices.
Others required Dad's immediate removal.
The board needed documents it didn't yet have.
On Wednesday night, Vanessa returned from Bali.
She entered headquarters carrying a designer bag and looking furious.
"You destroyed my trip," she accused.
"You missed my wedding," I answered.
"Because you made it impossible to be there!"
"I didn't book your flight."
She swung her bag onto the table.
"Dad says you're trying to put us on the street."
I showed her the independent committee's public-facing summary.
"The company has a debt problem."
She read barely a line.
"This is all legal nonsense."
Then she asked whether Grandmother's estate could cover the loan.
I looked at her carefully.
"Which loan?"
Her face changed.
"What?"
"You said the loan."
Vanessa stared at me for a long time.
Then she left without answering.
An hour later, Gregory called.
"Claire, the bank just sent the payoff demand."
"How much?"
The amount was far larger than anyone had expected.
Buried in the calculations was a penalty triggered by an undisclosed guarantee.
And the guarantee carried my grandmother's signature.
May you like
A signature dated two weeks after her death.
