Chapter 8 - The Crack in the Foundation
The silence in the boardroom lasted for nearly forty seconds before the director from the New York syndicate, a heavy-set man named Henderson whose firm held three hundred million dollars of Mercer commercial bonds, leaned forward.
"Bradley," Henderson said, his voice cracking with an administrative terror that made the silver-haired lawyer stiffen. "Is this authentic? If that land title holds up in the federal circuit, our secondary mortgage liens are entirely void. We’re holding three hundred million dollars of paper that isn't worth the ink it's printed on."
"It is a matter of interpretation, Bob," Bradley Vance said, his forehead finally beginning to show a fine sheen of sweat under the fluorescent lamps. "The 2018 corporate restructuring included a general release clause for all historical land claims. We can tie this up in the appellate courts for six years before they can even get an evidentiary hearing."
"They won't have six years, Bradley," Sarah Sterling’s voice came from the boardroom entrance.
The double doors had opened again, and Sarah walked into the room, followed by Dr. Elizabeth Cross, the lead forensic analyst for the Ohio State Highway Patrol crime laboratory. Dr. Cross was holding a blue-stamped folder bearing the seal of the Governor's Council on Public Records.
"Dr. Cross has just completed the mass spectrometry analysis of the logbook entries," Sarah announced, handing a copy of the report to Henderson before Bradley could intercept it. "The ink used to record the A&M Land Tenure allotments on pages eighty through ninety-five was manufactured by the Carter's Ink Company in Boston in September 2012. The paper density matches the exact production batch Mercer Development purchased for its executive offices that same winter."
She looked at Bradley Vance with a smile that looked like a razor blade. "In short, Bradley, the ledger is authentic, it is contemporaneous, and it is signed by the founder of this company. If you file a false denial in federal court this morning, I will personally process the perjury charges against you before the closing bell."
Bradley Vance slowly let his gold pen drop onto the glass table. It made a small, clear click that sounded like a bone breaking in the quiet room.
"Julian," Bradley whispered, his voice losing its high-society smoothness and turning into something thin, old, and panicked. "Julian, let's talk like reasonable men. We can create a secondary holding company. We can give Mr. Vance a seat on the executive board. We can phase in the payments over ten years so the market doesn't panic. If the stock collapses today, twelve thousand families are going to see their property values drop by thirty percent."
"The stock isn't going to collapse, Bradley," Julian said, walking over to the head of the table and picking up the gold pen Bradley had dropped. He handed it to David Vance. "Because as of ten minutes ago, I have purchased forty-four percent of the common stock through my private foundation. I am now the majority shareholder of Mercer Development."
He looked around the table at the twelve directors, who sat like stone statues in their leather chairs.
"My first act as chairperson," Julian said, "is to terminate Bradley Vance for cause, effective immediately. My second act is to appoint David Vance as the head of our newly created Tenant Protection Committee, with a starting budget of fifty million dollars, funded entirely by the cancellation of your executive bonuses for the next three years."
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He looked at Henderson, the New York director. "Do you have any objections, Bob?"
Henderson looked at the forensic report, then at David Vance, who was still holding his father's brass compass in his rough hand, and then he shook his head. "No objections, Julian. Just make sure the fence stays outside the lobby."
