Chapter 5 - THE MISSING ACCOUNT
I asked Daniel to take Graham and Celeste into the next room while I spoke privately with Adam and Vanessa.
Graham resisted until Sofia reminded him that the pending reservation had been suspended.
"This establishment will hear from my attorney," he announced.
"Wonderful," I said. "Please have the attorney put everything in writing."
The door closed, leaving three people who had once shared Christmas morning together.
Adam stared at the floor.
Vanessa watched me with a studied expression of concern.
"Margaret, this has gone too far," she said.
"I agree."
I set Thomas's ledger between us.
"Tell me about the missing book."
Adam looked up sharply.
"What book?"
"The one somebody stole from my archive."
He gave a hollow laugh.
"You think I broke into your business records?"
"I think you forged a signature and tried to spend thirty-eight thousand dollars."
"I didn't forge anything."
"Then whose hand made the letters?"
"Vanessa handled the paperwork."
My daughter-in-law's face went blank.
It was the first unguarded expression I had seen from her all evening.
"Excuse me?"
Adam's mouth opened, but no words came.
He had thrown her name into the room without warning, and now he could not retrieve it.
"You told me she approved it," he said to Vanessa.
"You told me your mother had already signed."
"I showed you the form."
"You sent me a scanned copy."
I had wanted truth.
Instead I watched the first crack appear in their partnership.
Vanessa stood so quickly her chair scraped the floor.
"I am not taking responsibility for this."
"Sit down," I said.
She looked at me in outrage.
"I am not your employee."
"Then stop speaking as if you manage my account."
For a moment I saw a different Vanessa, frightened beneath the polished exterior.
Then she lowered herself into the chair.
"Graham arranged the reception," she whispered.
"Why?"
"A business announcement."
"Which business?"
She pressed her lips together.
Adam answered instead.
"Price Meridian Development."
I knew the name.
Graham's company had been losing contracts for eighteen months, but he continued to host lavish functions and boast about expansion.
"What is the announcement?" I asked.
"An investment partnership," Adam said.
"With whom?"
"An unnamed hospitality group."
I felt a slow, unpleasant certainty settle over me.
Graham had planned to announce a deal involving the Whitmore restaurants.
He intended to borrow prestige from my name before I even knew there was a proposal.
"Tell me the name of that group."
Adam hesitated.
Then he whispered, "Whitmore Hospitality Holdings."
It took effort not to laugh.
The audacity was so enormous that for a moment it ceased to resemble ordinary greed.
"You announced my company as a partner," I said, "without my approval?"
Adam shook his head.
"Not announced yet."
"But Graham invited guests."
"Investors," Vanessa corrected.
"How many?"
"Forty or fifty."
The private reception had been designed to look like proof of a transaction that did not exist.
My company's presence was supposed to be established by photographs, expensive table settings, and a reserved room bearing our name.
The thirty-eight-thousand-dollar charge was merely the evening's costume.
The larger authorization was the dangerous part.
"What was the two-hundred-and-forty-thousand-dollar request for?"
Adam rubbed his forehead.
"A temporary deposit."
"For what?"
"Due diligence."
"On a deal I never saw?"
He said nothing.
I asked Daniel to return.
He brought in Helen and an attorney from our outside counsel's on-call service, Ellen Brooks, who joined us by secure video.
Ellen was practical, unsentimental, and deeply unimpressed by a person's surname.
I summarized what had happened.
She asked for scanned copies of every document and warned everyone present to preserve records.
"No one destroys phones, emails, printouts or messages," she said.
Graham entered the room halfway through the call, still wearing the look of a man who expected the final word.
"We can settle this as family," he said.
"Family was the excuse used to get my money," I replied.
Ellen asked whether Graham had made statements about Whitmore Hospitality Holdings to potential investors.
His reply was carefully evasive.
"We discussed possibilities."
"Did you represent that a signed agreement existed?"
"I don't recall those exact words."
"Then please preserve the invitations."
Vanessa glanced at her phone.
A notification flashed across the screen.
She hid it too late.
I had seen the words: THEY'RE ALREADY HERE.
Through the glass wall I could see a group of well-dressed guests heading toward the reception corridor.
Someone had not canceled the gathering.
Instead, Graham straightened his jacket and reached for the door.
"I'm going to explain the delay."
"No," I said.
He turned.
"You don't get to tell me what to do in front of my investors."
"I can tell you what takes place inside my restaurant."
Daniel signaled to the staff to hold the room closed.
Graham's face stiffened.
Then his phone rang.
He looked at the caller's name and went white.
"It's the bank," he muttered.
And he answered with a single desperate question.
May you like
"Did the bridge loan go through?"
