Chapter 4 - The House of Glass
The corporate offices of Harrison & Vance occupied the forty-fifth floor of a glass skyscraper overlooking Millennium Park. By noon, the conference table was covered in manila folders, forensic accounting binders, and certified legal deeds.
Zoe leaned over the table, sliding a blue leather binder toward me. “The protective order was signed by Judge Callahan an hour ago. Mark cannot come within five hundred feet of you or Lily. His visitation is suspended pending a psychological evaluation and child welfare review.”
“And the brownstone?” I asked.
“The title structure is airtight,” Zoe smiled coldly. “When your grandfather’s holding trust acquired the defaulted mortgage debt through Horizon Capital LLC, Frank signed a clause allowing immediate acceleration of the note in the event of corporate insolvency or uncured default. Frank hasn't made a principal payment in fourteen months. He’s been hiding behind the assumption that the lender was a passive institutional creditor who forgot about him.”
“He thought I was managing that portfolio on his behalf,” I murmured. “He never bothered to read who owned Horizon Capital.”
“Well, he’s about to find out,” Zoe said. “A formal notice of acceleration and demand for full satisfaction of the balance—seven point two million dollars—has just been served via private courier to the residence. They have seventy-two hours to cure the default, or the sheriff executes the writ of possession.”
“Seven point two million,” I whispered. “Frank doesn't have seven hundred thousand in liquid cash.”
“Not even close,” Zoe agreed. “And it gets worse for them. Megan’s bond hearing was set for two o'clock. The judge saw the pediatric report, noted the presence of ring-induced facial bruising, and set bail at fifty thousand dollars cash, with a strict condition that she undergo an anger management assessment and remain under electronic monitoring.”
Just then, my administrative phone line buzzed. My assistant connected an external call.
It was Carol Peterson.
Her voice had lost its imperious, queenly tone. It was frayed, trembling with venom and terror.
“Chloe,” she spat. “You vicious little ingrate. We took you in. We gave you our name. We introduced you to Chicago society, and this is how you repay us? By having my daughter dragged off like a common criminal?”
“Carol,” I said evenly, leaning back in my leather chair. “Your daughter committed a felony against a defenseless child. In my world, that isn't called discipline. It’s called abuse.”
“She was correcting her!” Carol shrieked. “A child must learn respect! You think you can destroy us? Frank has friends on every appellate bench in Illinois! We will destroy you in court, you little backwater nobody!”
“Before you hang up, Carol,” I replied, checking the time on my watch, “you might want to check the front door. A courier is standing on your porch with an envelope from Horizon Capital.”
There was a sudden pause on the line.
“What are you talking about?”
“The brownstone isn't yours,” I said simply. “It belongs to me. You have seventy-two hours to pack your silver and get out.”
May you like
I ended the call before she could scream.
***
