Chapter 6 - The Unraveling
The fallout was instantaneous and brutal.
Aaron didn't leave the conference room for nearly an hour after Nathan and I walked out. When he finally emerged into the lobby of the Boston Harbor Hotel, he looked like a man who had aged twenty years in an afternoon. His tie was loosened, his pristine jacket was wrinkled, and the confident swagger that had defined his entire public persona was completely shattered.
I didn't stay to watch him suffer. I took a car back to Marblehead.
Walking into my parents' home was like stepping out of a toxic storm into a sunlit sanctuary. The aroma of roasted chicken, rosemary, and fresh sourdough bread filled the spacious country kitchen. My father, his hands rough and weathered from decades of working with teak and varnish, was sitting at the wooden table reading the evening maritime gazette. My mother was stirring gravy at the stove.
When I entered, my father set his reading glasses down, stood up, and wrapped me in a bear hug that crushed all the residual tension out of my spine.
""Proud of you, kiddo,"" he whispered against my hair.
""I didn't want it to come to this, Dad,"" I murmured, my voice cracking slightly. ""I really loved him once. When we first met in law school, he wasn't this monster. He was ambitious, yes, but he had a spark of genuine passion. The moment his father gave him the CEO title, the rot set in.""
""Power doesn't change people, Claire,"" my father said gently, guiding me to a chair. ""It just strips away the mask they were wearing to fool the world. He showed you who he was. All you did was show him who you are.""
While we ate dinner, the news broke across the major financial networks.
Bloomberg and CNBC were running breaking news banners at the bottom of the screen: Prescott Global Faces Immediate Liquidity Crisis As Major Creditor Calls European Debt.
By eight o’clock, my private phone—the one only Aaron and his mother had the number to—began ringing again. This time, it wasn't Aaron.
It was Victoria Prescott.
The matriarch of the Prescott dynasty. A woman who had spent three years reminding me to sit with my ankles crossed, who had publicly criticized the caterers at our wedding for serving regional oysters instead of Beluga caviar, and who had never once called me by my first name without a sharp undertone of disdain.
I answered and put the phone on speaker.
""Claire,"" Victoria’s voice was trembling, stripped of all its customary aristocratic frost. ""Claire, darling... what on earth is happening? Aaron is at the penthouse throwing furniture. He says you're trying to destroy his father's company. He says you're trying to ruin us!""
""Good evening, Victoria,"" I said evenly. ""I'm not trying to destroy anything. I am simply managing my investment portfolio with the fiduciary duty it requires.""
""Claire, please!"" Victoria pleaded, a sound I had never imagined hearing in my lifetime. ""We are family! You cannot do this to Aaron! Think of his reputation! Think of the Prescott name! If the board removes him on Friday, he will be completely disgraced! He won't be able to show his face in Boston ever again!""
""Where was the Prescott name when your son paraded Jasmine Cole through the Ritz-Carlton in Paris while I was recovering from gallbladder surgery alone in Boston?"" I asked, my voice deadly quiet. ""Where was your sense of family when you invited Jasmine to sit at your table during the Symphony Gala last month while you told me the guest list was restricted to senior executive staff?""
A sharp intake of breath echoed on the other end of the line. Victoria hadn't realized I knew about the gala.
""Claire... I... Aaron told me you were indisposed...""
""Aaron lied to you, Victoria. And you chose to believe him because Jasmine flattered your ego, while I refused to pretend that your son was a genius. You reap what you sow. If you want to save Prescott Global, I suggest you tell Aaron to start looking for institutional buyers. Because my loan will be paid, or I will liquidate his company for scrap.""
May you like
I hung up the phone and pushed it away.
Across the table, my mother raised her glass of wine to me. ""To the quiet ones,"" she toasted with a fierce smile. ""May they always carry the biggest hammer.""
