Chapter 5 - The Bank’s Ledger
The office of Arthur Vance at First Midwest Commercial Credit did not smell like floor wax. It smelled of expensive HVAC filtration, dark wool, and fifty-dollar-an-ounce reed diffusers that pretended to be cedarwood.
Arthur Vance was fifty-two, with iron-gray hair parted with mathematical precision and the pale, bloodless fingers of a man who had never held anything heavier than an iPad. He was Katherine’s second cousin by some branch of the family tree no one spoke about, but he looked like Richard’s executioner.
"You should have called before coming in, Katherine," Vance said, not offering her the leather chair across from his glass-topped desk. He had three files spread before him, all of them stamped with the red ink of the bank’s legal division.
"I didn't want you to be out of the office," Katherine said, sitting down anyway.
She didn't take off her coat. She rested her black leather bag on her knees.
Vance sighed, taking off his gold-rimmed reading glasses and dropping them onto the blotter with a soft *click*.
"Your father’s loan was defaulted at nine-fifteen this morning," Vance said. "We issued the formal demand letter at ten. The county sheriff has already received the paperwork for the execution of the judgment lien. By Friday afternoon, the locks will be changed on the Maple Street property. The equipment will be inventoried on Monday."
"I know," Katherine said.
"Then why are you here? If you’re here to plead for an extension, you’re forty-eight hours too late. Even if you signed the guarantee right now, the credit committee has withdrawn the facility. Trevor’s little excursion into digital currencies was flagged by our automated compliance software two weeks ago. We only kept the window open because we thought... well, we thought your balance sheet would make the bank whole."
"You knew Trevor was embezzling," Katherine said.
Vance didn't flinch. He picked up his gold pen and balanced it across two fingers.
"Embezzlement is an internal corporate matter," Vance said smoothly. "From the bank’s perspective, it was simply an unhedged operational risk. We are in the business of mitigating risk. Your company, Apex Facilities Group, has two point four million in annual receivables and zero long-term debt. That makes you an exceptionally attractive risk mitigant."
"You were going to let me sign a cross-collateralization agreement that would have allowed you to attach my Elk Grove warehouse to pay off my uncle Julian’s thirty-year-old grudge."
Vance’s hand stopped moving.
The gold pen slipped from his fingers, hitting the leather blotter and rolling three inches until it stopped against the base of his monitor.
The room went very quiet. The gentle hum of the building’s air handling system sounded like the rush of water under ice.
"I don't know what you’re talking about," Vance said, but his voice had lost its smooth, executive varnish. It had a rough, thin edge.
"Julian died in Santa Barbara in 1998," Katherine said, her voice dropping into that rhythmic, low cadence that had terrified Trevor that morning. "He died of liver failure. He left half his estate to your father, Arthur. But he didn't leave the fifty-five thousand dollars Richard Sinclair borrowed in August of 1994, did he? Because Richard never signed a promissory note. He just took the check from Julian’s personal account and let Julian believe... well, let’s call it what it was. A down payment on a woman he was never going to get."
Vance’s face darkened, the red blood climbing out of his starched collar like ink soaking through chalk.
"That family," Vance hissed, leaning forward, the professional veneer completely stripped away, "has been living off other people’s labor since the Eisenhower administration. Your father is a fraud. Your brother is an idiot who thinks he’s a hedge fund manager because he has an iPhone. And your mother..."
He stopped. He swallowed, his throat clicking.
"My mother is what she is," Katherine said. "And you tried to use me to clean up their mess."
"You were the only one with money!" Vance whispered, his hands flat against the glass. "You think it’s fair that you get to walk away with a clean business while the rest of us eat Richard’s bad paper? My father carried that debt on his personal books until the day he died because he was too proud to admit Richard Sinclair had swindled him!"
"Your father’s pride isn't on my balance sheet, Arthur."
Katherine reached into her bag, pulled out an envelope, and dropped it onto the glass desk.
It was thick, sealed with blue security tape.
"What’s this?" Vance asked.
"That is a formal notice of representation from Elena Morales at Kirkland & Ellis," Katherine said. "And an affidavit of non-involvement regarding the North Star Digital transactions."
Vance didn't touch the envelope.
"Elena Morales?" he murmured. "She doesn't do restaurant bankruptcies."
"No," Katherine said. "She does lender liability. She specializes in predatory cross-collateralization schemes involving commercial guarantors who were provided incomplete disclosure schedules."
Vance looked at the envelope as if it were a dead rat.
"If you attempt to attach any asset belonging to Apex Facilities Group," Katherine said, rising from the chair, "or if my name appears in any foreclosure filing regarding *The Brass Lantern*, Morales will file a federal suit in the Northern District of Illinois against First Midwest and against you personally for breach of fiduciary duty and fraudulent inducement."
"We didn't induce you," Vance said, his voice shaking. "You didn't sign!"
"You tried to," Katherine said. "And in the state of Illinois, an attempted fraudulent conveyance by a lending officer carrying a documented personal family conflict of interest is enough to trigger a formal inquiry by the state banking commission."
She leaned down, her face twelve inches from Vance’s.
"You’re going to foreclose on the Lantern, Arthur," she whispered. "You’re going to take the building. You’re going to take Trevor’s car. You’re going to take the mahogany bar my grandfather built. But you are not going to touch one penny of mine. And if I hear my name mentioned in any room where you do business, I will make sure the regional board sees the emails between you and Trevor from last month."
Vance’s eyes widened. "Trevor didn't save those."
"Trevor didn't," Katherine said. "Melissa did."
She turned and walked out of the office.
May you like
As the heavy glass door clicked shut behind her, she heard the sound of Arthur Vance’s gold pen rolling off the desk and hitting the hardwood floor with a tiny, sharp snap.
***
