Chapter 8 - The Aftermath
By 9:00 AM Monday morning, the financial world woke up to an earthquake.
The Chicago Tribune ran a full-page front-story feature with a photograph of Richard Mercer and me entering the Meridian Gala, while the Wall Street Journal ran a brutal financial autopsy titled: Vale Holdings Implodes as Mercer Collateral Withdrawn.
By noon, the Harbor Authority had formally terminated its forty-million-dollar development contract with Dominic Vale, citing material misrepresentation of assets. The regional banks froze his accounts, issuing margin calls he had zero ability to meet. By 2:00 PM, Dominic’s board of directors voted unanimously to remove him as Chief Executive Officer to salvage whatever scraps remained of the company.
I spent that Monday afternoon on the sixty-fifth floor of the Mercer Tower, overlooking the lake. The office was vast, lined with mahogany and leather, filled with the warmth of mid-morning sunlight. Across the massive desk, my personal attorney, Sarah Lin, slid a stack of documents toward me.
"The penthouse has been cleared, Evelyn," Sarah said with a satisfied smile. "Mr. Vale attempted to contest the lease, but as the deed was held under the Vance-Mercer Family Trust, his belongings were packed into storage bins and placed on the curb at dawn."
"Did he try to call?" I asked, sipping an Earl Grey tea.
"Over seventy times," Sarah replied. "Along with forty-two voicemails apologizing, begging for a meeting, and claiming he was manipulated by Vanessa Quinn."
"And Vanessa?"
Sarah let out a soft laugh. "Miss Quinn resigned from Vale Holdings this morning via email. She tried to pitch herself to three rival PR agencies before lunch, but Richard quietly put the word out. In this city, no one will hire her to hand out flyers, let alone manage public relations."
A knock came at the door, and Richard Mercer stepped inside, holding a leather-bound portfolio. He tossed it onto the desk in front of me with a proud grin.
"What is this?" I asked.
"The waterfront development," Richard replied. "The city didn't want the project to die. They asked Midwest Capital to step in and find a reputable steward. I told them Midwest Capital wouldn't touch it—unless Evelyn Vance took the chair as lead developer."
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I stared at the paperwork. My name was already printed on the header: Vance Development Group.
"You've run Dominic's operations from the shadows for almost a decade, Evelyn," Richard said softly. "It's time Chicago sees the architect who actually designed the skyline."
