Chapter 3 - Eight O’Clock
Marcus was released shortly after two in the morning without formal charges pending review by the Cook County State’s Attorney’s Office.
Bianca was processed separately after police reviewed the videos showing her striking Emma.
By dawn, both of them had attorneys.
Both had become national gossip.
Marcus had not slept.
At 6:40 a.m., he stood in his Lake Shore Drive townhouse kitchen wearing yesterday’s tuxedo pants and a borrowed shirt while Emma sat at the island in Claire’s cardigan.
The pink dress was inside an evidence bag at the police station.
Frosting and all.
“Does my face look bad?” Emma asked.
The swelling had diminished.
Marcus forced himself to answer calmly.
“No. But we’re still going to the doctor after the board meeting.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
He looked at her.
“I have to.”
“Because of Grandpa?”
“Because somebody is trying to take something he left our family.”
Emma looked at the gold key on the counter.
Police had photographed it but returned it because there was no indication it had been used in the break-in.
Marcus slid it into a small lockbox.
“Did Grandpa tell you anything else?”
Emma stared at her cereal.
“He said adults make secrets too complicated.”
Marcus almost smiled.
“That sounds like him.”
“He also said not to give the key to anybody except you.”
“Did he say why?”
Emma shook her head.
Then paused.
“He said you might not believe me at first.”
Marcus stopped.
“Believe you about what?”
Emma frowned, trying to remember.
“He said, ‘If the lady gets angry about the box, tell your father I was right.’”
Marcus’s skin prickled.
“What lady?”
“I asked.”
“And?”
“He said I would know.”
Claire, standing near the coffee machine, slowly set down her cup.
Marcus noticed.
“What?”
“Your father suspected someone.”
“You think Bianca.”
Claire looked uncomfortable.
“I think Richard stopped trusting her before he died.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because he made me promise not to interfere unless he asked.”
“He’s dead.”
“I know.”
“And four months later my daughter gets hit at my wedding over a key my father hid.”
Claire looked away.
Marcus’s voice hardened.
“You know more.”
Before she could answer, his phone rang.
His mother.
Evelyn Hale did not say hello.
“What have you done?”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“Good morning, Mother.”
“Do not patronize me. Every television station in Chicago is showing you hitting Bianca.”
“Have you seen the five seconds before that?”
“Yes.”
“Then what exactly are we discussing?”
“You lost control.”
“So did she.”
“She slapped Emma, which was appalling. You are a grown man.”
Marcus glanced at his daughter.
“Not now.”
“The board is frightened.”
“The board should be frightened that someone stole my father’s archives.”
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“Simon says your father’s trust may have suspended your authority.”
Marcus looked at Claire.
“Simon called you?”
“At five this morning.”
“Of course he did.”
“Marcus, this company is worth hundreds of millions of dollars. We cannot let a family scandal destroy it.”
“My daughter is part of this family.”
“That is not what I meant.”
“It’s exactly what you meant.”
He ended the call.
At 7:55, Marcus entered Hale Meridian’s headquarters on Wacker Drive.
Reporters crowded the sidewalk.
He ignored them.
The boardroom on the forty-third floor was already full.
Simon Voss sat at the far end.
Tall, polished, gray at the temples, Simon had the unhurried manner of a man who believed time worked for him.
Bianca sat beside him.
Marcus stopped in the doorway.
“You’re allowing her here?”
Simon folded his hands.
“She is CFO.”
“She was arrested for hitting my child.”
“No charges have been filed yet.”
“Neither have any against me.”
“Correct.”
Marcus sat.
Victor Lang joined by video.
Abigail Reese, the independent director, opened the meeting.
“We have three immediate issues. The Bellmere archive breach, the missing trust documents, and allegations involving company funds.”
Marcus looked around.
“What allegations?”
Simon slid a folder across the table.
“Eighteen million seven hundred and forty thousand dollars.”
Marcus opened it.
Wire transfers.
Construction invoices.
Authorizations.
His electronic signature.
His credential code.
His face went still.
“I didn’t approve these.”
Bianca spoke quietly.
“The system says you did.”
Marcus looked at her.
“You signed off on every capital payment as CFO.”
“I approved payments after executive authorization.”
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
Simon lifted one hand.
“Enough.”
Marcus slammed the folder down.
“No. Not enough. Someone broke into the vault on my wedding night, stole my father’s original records, and now you present me with eighteen million dollars in fraudulent transfers carrying my credentials?”
Abigail leaned forward.
“Are you saying the records are fabricated?”
“I’m saying I didn’t authorize those wires.”
Bianca removed a document from her folder.
“This is why Richard amended his trust.”
Marcus stared at the scanned signature.
His father’s name.
April 2.
Under it, a clause appointing Simon interim voting trustee if Marcus became implicated in fraud.
Simon looked almost regretful.
“Until this is resolved, I have an obligation to protect Hale Meridian.”
“What are you proposing?”
“A temporary suspension.”
Marcus laughed once.
“You’ve rehearsed this.”
No one answered.
Abigail called the vote.
Simon voted yes.
Bianca, as an officer, could not vote.
Two directors abstained.
Evelyn appeared by video.
Marcus stared at his mother’s face.
“Mom.”
She looked devastated.
“I’m sorry.”
She voted yes.
The motion passed.
Effective immediately, Marcus Hale was suspended as CEO.
His corporate access was terminated.
His signing authority was frozen.
Security would escort him from the building.
Simon stood.
“For what it’s worth, Marcus, I hope you clear your name.”
Marcus looked at him.
“You’re sitting in my chair before the meeting is over.”
Simon’s mouth tightened.
Then Marcus’s phone vibrated.
Claire.
A photograph appeared.
She had gone back to the Bellmere vault with Darius.
The image showed an empty archive shelf.
Except for one object.
A small white envelope taped beneath it.
May you like
Across the front, in Richard Hale’s unmistakable handwriting, were three words:
FOR MARCUS ONLY.
