Chapter 4 - The Scramble for Collateral
The news hit the financial feeds by early afternoon. Bloomberg ran the initial banner: Shakeup at Callaway Developments: Founder Ousted Amid Financial Irregularities; Fontaine Heiress Takes Direct Command. By three o'clock, the Wall Street Journal had published an exposé detailing the fraudulent invoices tied to Tatum Voss, whose father, billionaire real estate tycoon Richard Voss, was already battling an SEC investigation over shady offshore trusts.
I sat in the corner office on the fortieth floor of the Fontaine Global headquarters, looking over the Manhattan skyline. My father had brought in our senior legal counsel, Eleanor Vance, along with Julian Mercer.
"The bleeding has been stopped," Julian reported, setting a tablet on my desk. "Once we announced that Fontaine Capital was backstopping the entire capital stack for Ridge View Commons, the secondary lenders pulled back their default notices. Arthur Vance and Apex Capital have agreed to remain as lead syndicate partners—on one condition."
"Which is?" I asked, sipping black coffee.
"That you serve as Managing Principal and Chief Executive Officer," Julian said with a broad smile. "Arthur told Gerard that he had known for three years that Owen was a paper tiger. He said he only kept his money in the pipeline because he saw your signature on every engineering sign-off."
"Thank you, Julian," I said, feeling a quiet, steady pride settle in my chest. For seven years, Owen had made me believe that my technical degree from Columbia was useless without his charisma, that my ability to parse complex urban land covenants was just clerical work. I had let him dim my light so his spark wouldn't look so feeble.
"Now, we handle the personal side," Eleanor Vance said, opening her briefcase and sliding a stack of thick legal filings across my desk. "We filed for emergency divorce proceedings this morning under expedited summary judgment. Under New York law, given the clear documentation of marital abandonment and material dissipations of marital assets via the Voss entity, we have moved to freeze all shared marital liquid accounts."
"What does Owen have left in his personal name?" I asked.
"Practically nothing," Eleanor replied with a dry chuckle. "The seven-million-dollar Tribeca penthouse is owned by a Fontaine family trust created prior to your marriage. The summer home in the Hamptons is leased under a corporate entity controlled by your father. The sports cars are leased through Callaway Developments. Owen's liquid net worth consisted of his corporate stock—which has been effectively canceled due to the fraud indemnification clause—and about forty thousand dollars in a personal checking account."
My desk phone buzzed. My assistant’s voice came over the intercom: "Mrs. Callaway... excuse me, Ms. Fontaine, Richard Voss is on line one. He sounds extremely agitated."
I pressed the speaker button. "Mr. Voss. To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Isabo," Richard Voss boomed, his gravelly voice tight with barely suppressed rage. "What kind of circus are you running over there? My daughter is locked in her apartment sobbing because your legal team just slapped her with a subpoena for civil conspiracy and conversion of funds! The press is swarming outside my lobby!"
"Then I suggest you tell Tatum to stop giving unsolicited marital advice during institutional investment pitches, Mr. Voss," I replied smoothly. "Your daughter accepted nearly half a million dollars in stolen corporate funds from my company. She used it to finance luxury holidays while calling me a 'placeholder' on an open speakerphone."
"She didn't know the money was commingled!" Richard Voss roared. "Owen told her the consulting fees were legitimate! He told her he had full executive discretion over those funds!"
"Ignorance is not a valid defense against possession of stolen property, Mr. Voss," I answered, my tone unwavering. "If Tatum returns the four hundred and eighty thousand dollars to Callaway Developments within forty-eight hours, along with all luxury items purchased with corporate funds, our corporate board may consider declining to pursue criminal referral. If she doesn't, she will be named as an unindicted co-conspirator in the grand jury presentation on Monday morning."
There was a long, heavy silence on the line. Richard Voss was a man who used threats like currency, but he knew when his hand was empty. His own empire was teetering under regulatory scrutiny; an active criminal indictment involving his daughter would cause his remaining institutional lines of credit to evaporate overnight.
"She will wire the funds by noon tomorrow," Voss spat through clenched teeth. "And tell that pathetic ex-husband of yours to stay the hell away from my daughter. If he comes near my building again, I'll have security throw him in the East River."
The line went dead.
May you like
I looked at Eleanor and Julian. For the first time in nearly a year, I smiled. It was clean, untainted by doubt or sorrow.
"Let's move to the penthouse," I said. "It's time to take out the trash."
