Chapter 4 - The Corporate Parasite
The air in my office seemed to drop twenty degrees in an instant.
I stood up from my chair so fast the casters struck the credenza behind me with a sharp crack. "They did what?"
"You heard me," Jordan said, setting the tablet on my desk. "Cameron went into the regional commercial lending branch on Glenwood Avenue at ten this morning. He carried a fresh, glossy copy of the Carolinas Business Review, laid it on the vice president's desk, and claimed that Meridian was the 'specialized healthcare delivery division' of the Mercer family enterprise. He presented a forged organizational chart showing your father as Chairman Emeritus, Cameron as Executive Vice President, and you as Managing Director of Healthcare Logistics."
"That is criminal fraud," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, each word wrapped in razor wire. "That is bank fraud, wire fraud, and trademark infringement."
"Of course it is," Jordan said calmly. "The bank branch manager knew Cameron's father had been banking there for thirty years, but he didn't know you. However, our lead treasury officer at Meridian, David Vance, happened to be in the same regional underwriting queue for our automated bonding limits on the nine-facility campus deal. The underwriter saw two conflicting filings claiming the same forty-six-million-dollar asset base and flagged both accounts for an emergency compliance freeze."
"Freeze?" The word tore out of my chest. "Jordan, we have three payroll runs this Friday totaling over two hundred and forty thousand dollars. We have sixteen railcars of specialized surgical cabinetry arriving in Greensboro on Thursday morning that require release letters of credit backed by First National!"
"David managed to keep our operating accounts decoupled by producing our certified Delaware corporate charter and the registered operating agreement showing you own ninety-two percent of the voting shares outright," Jordan explained, tapping the screen. "Our money is safe. But Cameron's line of credit was denied on the spot, and First National’s corporate risk department is currently drafting an inquiry to the State Banking Commission."
Before I could answer, Sarah buzzed my intercom. Her voice sounded strained.
"Ms. Mercer? Your father is in the reception lobby. He pushed past the security turnstiles on the ground floor with a guest badge from another tenant. He is demanding to see you, and he is shouting at the junior receptionists."
I looked at Jordan. His jaw was tight. "Do you want me to have building security escort him to the sidewalk?"
"No," I said, smoothing down the front of my charcoal blazer. "Send him in. And Jordan? Keep the recording device on your tablet active. I want every single syllable captured for our legal counsel."
The double doors of my office flew open before Sarah could open them properly. Frank Mercer marched across the Persian wool rug, his face mottled with purple rage, his overcoat unbuttoned to reveal his crooked tie and a stained collar. He looked older than he had on Sunday, but his eyes were blazing with the desperate, cornered fury of a man whose illusions had been shattered by cold reality.
"What kind of monster are you?" he roared, stopping three feet from my desk and slamming both fists down onto the polished walnut. "You call the regional president of First National and you tell them that Cameron made a clerical error! You tell them that Mercer Commercial Supply and your company are one and the same, or by God, I will tear this whole building apart with my bare hands!"
I didn't flinch. I didn't lean away from his spittle. I looked directly into his bloodshot eyes and spoke with absolute, terrifying calm.
"Sit down, Frank."
"Don't you use that tone with me, young lady! I am your father! I put shoes on your feet! I paid for your college tuition!"
"My college tuition was covered by an academic scholarship and twelve thousand dollars in federal subsidized loans that I paid off myself when I was twenty-seven," I said, never raising my pitch. "You paid for Cameron’s four-year fraternity bender at East Carolina, which took him six years to complete while he failed basic managerial accounting twice."
"Your brother made an honest business move!" Frank shouted, his chest heaving under his rumpled shirt. "He was trying to save forty families who depend on our warehouse for their livelihoods! Our suppliers cut our payment terms from sixty days to net-cash last month because three commercial developers stiffed us on retail strip projects! We needed that line of credit to survive the winter quarter! All Cameron did was show the bank that the Mercer family has the assets to cover the paper! And you—his own sister—you went behind his back and told the risk officers that he was lying!"
"He was lying," I said. "He committed a federal felony before lunch. If First National decides to refer that filing to the United States Attorney’s office, Cameron won't be running a warehouse in South Carolina, Frank. He’ll be wearing an orange jumpsuit in a federal holding facility in Butner."
"You wouldn't dare let them do that to your brother," Frank whispered, though the volume had dropped, replaced by a hollow, terrifying panic. "You wouldn't destroy your own family's name over a bank form."
May you like
"You destroyed this family's name the moment you decided that my work was only valuable if Cameron could steal it to cover his incompetence," I replied, standing up to look down across the desk at him. "Get out of my office before I have the county sheriff serve you with a formal trespass warning."
---
