I poured coffee.
“What happens if she refuses?”
Charles smiled.
“Certain investors may reconsider their confidence in your company.”
He honestly believed the Ashcroft family still controlled the old-money banking network financing my newest redevelopment project.
Perhaps they had…
ten years ago.
I slid the agreement back across the table.
“We’ll consider it.”
Vivian kissed my cheek.
“That,” she smiled,
“is why I love you.
You’re always reasonable.”
After they left, my mother looked at me.
“You’re not marrying her.”
“No.”
“Then why let them leave smiling?”
“Because arrogant people reveal far more when they believe they’re safe.”
The audit had already confirmed my suspicions.
Ashcroft Capital wasn’t thriving.
It was collapsing behind polished appearances.
Charles had mortgaged nearly every commercial property.
Moved employee pension funds between subsidiaries.
Used Vivian’s charitable foundation to pay private family expenses.
Most importantly…
their survival depended on me.
Six months earlier, Charles had secretly requested a $200 million line of credit from my investment group.
He hid the request through shell companies.
He assumed I would never examine transactions beneath executive level.
He underestimated me.
Growing up, I watched slumlords hide ownership behind relatives, fake businesses, and false addresses.
Shell companies weren’t sophisticated.
