Chapter 8: Grant Faces the Room
The formal meeting took place on a Tuesday, twelve days after the Whitmore dinner.
It was held in a conference room on the fourteenth floor of Sylvia Park's firm, which had the kind of view that was meant to remind everyone present that the city continued regardless of what happened inside the room.
Adrian arrived early.
He sat on one side of the table with Sylvia and her associate.
He had not brought the wheelchair.
His hip was having a reasonable day.
Grant arrived with two attorneys and a man Adrian didn't recognize who turned out to be a forensic consultant retained by Grant's side.
He looked at Adrian when he came in.
Adrian looked back.
Neither of them said anything.
Grant's lead attorney was a man named Forsythe, silver-haired and deliberate, who had the manner of someone who had won enough rooms to know that winning was mostly about controlling the pace.
"We appreciate Mr.
Cole's willingness to meet," Forsythe began.
"We're not here to appreciate things," Sylvia said pleasantly.
"We're here to discuss what Mr.
Ellis did and what happens next."
Forsythe smiled.
"Of course.
Our position is that Mr.
Ellis acted under emergency authority, with the genuine belief that Mr.
Cole's incapacitation required immediate structural decisions to protect the company's interests.
The amended filing—"
"Used a forged signature," Sylvia said.
"Used a reproduced signature in a context where—"
"Forged," Sylvia said again, the same tone, the same pace.
"The word is forged.
We can spend the next hour finding softer language for it, or we can discuss what Mr.
Ellis is prepared to do."
Forsythe looked at his notes.
A brief recalibration.
"Mr.
Ellis is prepared to execute a full reversal of all amended filings," he said.
"Return all restructured assets to their original positions.
Provide a signed statement of sole responsibility.
And make a contribution to the foundation in the amount of—"
"No," Adrian said.
The room looked at him.
"The foundation is separate," he said.
"A contribution to the foundation is not restitution.
It's a gesture designed to make this look philanthropic.
I'm not interested in that."
Forsythe looked at him steadily.
"Mr.
Cole, the foundation has been significantly impacted by the uncertainty around these filings.
A contribution would—"
"The foundation will recover," Adrian said.
"What I want is simple.
Full reversal.
Full statement.
And Grant answers the DA's questions honestly."
Grant, who had been silent since entering the room, looked up.
"You're not withdrawing the referral," he said.
It was not a question.
"No."
Grant's jaw worked once.
"Adrian.
Eleven years."
"I know."
"I made a mistake."
"You made forty-three decisions using my name without my knowledge," Adrian said.
"A mistake is one.
Forty-three is a system."
Grant looked at his hands on the table.
His attorneys exchanged a glance.
"If this goes to the DA," Forsythe said carefully, "the exposure for Mr.
Ellis is significant.
A conviction would—"
"I know what a conviction would mean," Adrian said.
"I'm not the one who forged the signatures."
The room went quiet.
Forsythe tried twice more — a restructured settlement offer, then a suggestion that the DA's referral might be reviewed in light of full cooperation.
Sylvia answered both.
Adrian let her.
At the end of the meeting, Grant stood up.
He looked at Adrian across the table.
"Is there anything," Grant said, "that would change this?"
Adrian thought about the hospital.
The six weeks.
The physical therapist counting his steps across the bedroom.
The wheelchair folded in the corner of his apartment because some days the hip made everything else impossible.
The forty-three decisions made in that time, in his name, without a single phone call.
"No," Adrian said.
Grant nodded once.
He picked up his jacket from the back of his chair.
"Then I suppose," he said quietly, "that's the answer."
He walked out.
His attorneys followed.
The door closed.
Sylvia set her pen down.
"The DA's office will move quickly once they have his cooperation statement.
Probably thirty days."
"I know," Adrian said.
"How are you feeling?"
He looked at the window.
The city.
The ordinary Tuesday continuing outside.
"Like I'd like to go have coffee," he said.
May you like
Sylvia raised an eyebrow.
"With someone who had nothing to do with any of this," he added.
