Chapter 2 - The Morning After the Feast
The text messages began at 5:15 AM.
“Where the hell are you?” “Allison, answer your phone. The catering company is threatening to file an emergency lien against my corporate accounts. They said some legal firm representing the property owner is involved. What did your parents do?” “My mother is staying at the house. She is disgusted by your behavior. You left guests without saying goodbye.”
I didn't reply to a single one. Instead, I ordered room service for the girls—pancakes, fresh berries, hot chocolate, and a basket of warm pastries. I sat at the small table in our suite, watching Sadie carefully spread butter on her croissant. She was smiling now, the shadow of the previous night temporarily lifted by the luxury of the hotel room.
"Mom," Sadie said, looking up from her plate. "Can we live here?"
"Not here, sweetie. But we’re going to find a new place. A big place with a yard just for you and June."
"Without Grandma Beverly?" June asked, her mouth full of berries.
"Without Grandma Beverly," I confirmed, reaching over to wipe a drop of chocolate from her chin. This time, it was done with a soft silk napkin, in a room paid for by my own legitimate dividends.
At 9:00 AM, my phone rang. It wasn't Warren. It was Arthur Pendelton, the senior partner at Pendelton & Associates, the boutique law firm I had used to handle Reed Urban Partners’ regional acquisitions for the past seven years.
"Allison," Arthur said, his voice deep and seasoned with decades of corporate warfare. "The promissory note has been logged into our secure filing system. We’ve cross-referenced the signature with Warren’s corporate employment contract and his personal vehicle leases. It’s a perfect match. He didn't just sign a note; he signed a cross-collateralization agreement."
"Explain it to me like I’m a judge, Arthur," I said, standing up and walking toward the suite's living room so the girls wouldn't hear.
"When Warren signed that document thinking it was a bridge loan from your parents, he didn't read the hidden terms on pages three and four—the pages he skipped because he was too busy boasting about his financial superiority. The document states that in exchange for any perceived financial underwriting by Reed Urban Partners or its affiliates, Warren pledges his personal equity in his regional sales commission pools, his vehicle titles, and any real estate holdings as indemnity."
"But he doesn't own any real estate," I noted. "The Great Falls house is a lease."
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"Exactly," Arthur replied, a cold edge to his voice. "Which means the indemnity immediately defaults to his liquid assets and his future earnings. Furthermore, because he defaulted on the catering contract—which was technically underwritten by a shell subsidiary of Reed Urban—we have the right to accelerate the entire $300,000 note immediately. He owes us the full amount, due in seventy-two hours, or we file for an automatic confession of judgment in the Fairfax County Circuit Court."
"Do it," I said. "And Arthur? Deliver the papers to his office. Let’s see how his regional sales director reacts when a process server walks into the Monday morning executive meeting."
