Chapter 6: The Name Behind the Company
Diane called at half past nine.
Lily and I were in the hotel restaurant.
Lily had ordered pancakes and was carefully cutting them into identical squares.
The red roses — straightened as best I could manage — stood in a proper vase now, brought up by Lupita that morning along with breakfast.
I stepped into the corridor to take the call.
"The holding company," Diane said.
"It's called Regent Future Holdings.
Incorporated in Delaware eight months ago, as I said.
Single director listed."
"Who?"
"A woman named Cassandra Pryce."
I didn't recognize the name.
"She's a property developer," Diane continued.
"Mid-sized firm, mostly commercial conversions.
But here's what matters — three months ago, Regent Future Holdings made a conditional offer on a competing hotel two blocks from the Grand Regent.
The offer was contingent on a change in the Grand Regent's ownership structure."
I leaned against the corridor wall.
"He was going to use the voting rights to devalue this property," I said.
"Or block its operations.
Make the Grand Regent look unstable to investors.
Then Pryce's company picks up the competitor property at a premium while this one loses ground."
"That's the most logical reading," Diane said.
"I've sent everything to a litigation specialist I trust.
She'll have a preliminary opinion by this afternoon."
"And Marcus?"
"He hasn't called the office.
His phone has been going to voicemail since eight."
"He's waiting to see what I do."
"Yes."
I looked back through the restaurant window.
Lily had finished cutting her pancakes and was now feeding a small piece to the rabbit, who she had propped against the sugar bowl.
"Diane," I said.
"The gala last night — was Cassandra Pryce on the guest list?"
A brief pause.
Keyboard sounds.
"Yes," she said.
"Table seven."
Marcus had planned the entire evening.
The blocked reservation.
The tired, frustrated father arriving with a grieving child.
The quick call, the offer to help, the short walk down to the gala.
Table seven.
A signature.
A witness.
And Sarah's hotel — the first one, the one we had nearly lost everything to save — would have begun quietly bleeding.
"I want to meet with Marcus today," I said.
"Here.
This building.
His choice of time, but it happens here."
"I'll contact him."
"Don't tell him what we have.
Just tell him I want to talk."
"He won't come if he thinks it's a confrontation."
"Tell him I've calmed down.
Tell him I want to understand his side."
A pause.
"You want him comfortable."
"I want him in this lobby," I said.
"Standing in front of Sarah's portrait.
I want him to look at it when I ask him to explain himself."
Diane was quiet for a moment.
"I'll make the call," she said.
I went back to the table.
Lily looked up.
"Who was that?"
"Diane.
From work."
"Is everything okay?"
I sat down and picked up my coffee.
"It will be," I said.
She studied me for a moment with the particular seriousness that six-year-olds sometimes have — the kind that sees more than it should.
Then she pushed the plate toward me.
"You should eat something, Daddy.
You didn't have breakfast."
I looked at the plate.
At the perfectly cut squares.
"You're right," I said.
May you like
"Thank you."
She nodded, satisfied, and went back to the rabbit.
