Chapter 2 - The Woman Behind Northstar
I didn't sleep Sunday night.
At 6:42 Monday morning, I sat on the edge of my bed in the Bronx with my aging laptop open.
The anonymous email remained on the screen.
Northstar should have stayed anonymous.
No signature.
No demand.
No explanation.
I checked the report again.
Forty-seven pages.
Every calculation was still correct.
I had built it from public filings, pipeline capacity data, regulatory documents, debt schedules, hedging disclosures, and months of research conducted after exhausting shifts at The Sterling.
I wasn't afraid of being wrong.
I was afraid I was right.
At 8:03, the phone rang.
Unknown number.
“Fiona Adams?”
“Yes.”
“This is Nolan Porter.”
I sat straighter.
“How did you get my number?”
“The Sterling.”
“They gave you my personal number?”
“No. I asked them to tell you to call me. You didn't. So I became persistent.”
“That sounds healthier.”
He laughed once.
Then his tone changed.
“You need to come downtown.”
“I have a shift.”
“Grant wants to speak with you.”
“I’m not particularly interested in what Grant wants.”
“He didn't sleep.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Fiona, Holloway Capital has almost nine hundred million dollars exposed to the company you named.”
“Then he should be speaking to his analysts.”
“He has been.”
“And?”
A pause.
“They think you’re right.”
I said nothing.
Nolan continued.
“Not completely. Not yet. But enough that Grant canceled everything this morning.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“He finally started reading.”
Nolan exhaled.
“Come to the office.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Yesterday your boss stole my phone and turned me into entertainment for his friends.”
“I know.”
“And today I'm supposed to rush downtown because he snapped his fingers?”
“No.”
Nolan paused.
“You should come because if you're right, somebody has spent a lot of effort hiding what you found.”
That got my attention.
Twenty minutes later, I was on the subway.
Holloway Capital occupied six floors of a glass tower overlooking Manhattan.
I arrived wearing the only blazer I owned.
The receptionist looked at my shoes.
Then my bag.
Then me.
“Delivery entrance is downstairs.”
“I’m here to see Grant Holloway.”
Her expression changed.
“Name?”
“Fiona Adams.”
She froze.
Apparently my name had traveled.
Less than a minute later, Nolan appeared.
“Thanks for coming.”
“I haven't decided whether I’m staying.”
“Fair.”
He led me into a conference room.
Grant stood beside a wall of screens.
No brunch.
No champagne.
No audience.
Just rolled-up sleeves and an expression that suggested he had spent the night discovering he wasn't the smartest person in every room.
“You came.”
“You sound surprised.”
“I was told you said no.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“Curiosity.”
He studied me.
Then gestured toward the screens.
“My research team reviewed your claim.”
“My claim?”
“The covenant problem.”
“It’s not a claim.”
Grant’s eyes narrowed.
“There it is again.”
“What?”
“That confidence.”
I dropped my bag onto a chair.
“You want me to pretend the numbers are less obvious because that makes you comfortable?”
Nolan hid a smile.
Grant noticed.
“Something funny?”
“Nothing.”
Grant turned back to me.
“Show me.”
“Show you what?”
“What my team missed.”
I stared at him.
“Yesterday I was an amateur graduate student with a blog and insomnia.”
His expression tightened.
“You heard that?”
“I was standing six feet away.”
“I didn't know the report was yours.”
“That makes it better?”
“No.”
The answer surprised me.
Grant crossed his arms.
“I behaved badly yesterday.”
“Correct.”
“I shouldn't have taken your phone.”
“Correct.”
“And I shouldn't have humiliated you.”
“Correct.”
Nolan looked down.
Grant stared at me.
“Are you going to make me apologize sentence by sentence?”
“It’s working so far.”
For half a second, I thought he might throw me out.
Instead he almost smiled.
“I'm sorry.”
I nodded.
“Accepted.”
Then I walked toward the screen.
“Now open the subsidiary debt schedule.”
For the next forty minutes, nobody interrupted me.
I showed them the covenant.
The declining cash coverage.
The hidden exposure.
The pipeline contract scheduled to reset.
And finally the number that made everything else dangerous.
Grant leaned toward the screen.
“That's impossible.”
“No.”
“Our analysts estimated twenty-eight percent.”
“They used last quarter's capacity assumption.”
Nolan whispered, “Fiona has seventeen.”
“Exactly.”
Grant looked at me.
“If you're right—”
“The company breaches its covenant.”
“And lenders can demand additional collateral.”
“Yes.”
“Which they don't have.”
“Now you're caught up.”
Grant stared at the screen.
Then at me.
“Who else knows?”
“Anyone who reads the filings correctly.”
“No. Who else understands it?”
I hesitated.
“I don't know.”
His phone rang.
He answered.
“Holloway.”
Someone spoke.
Grant’s face hardened.
“When?”
He listened.
“Do nothing. I'm coming down.”
He disconnected.
“What happened?” Nolan asked.
Grant looked directly at me.
“The company just requested an emergency meeting with our fund.”
I felt cold.
“When?”
“Today.”
Nolan stared at the screens.
“They know we found something.”
“No,” I said quietly.
Grant looked at me.
“What?”
“They don't know you found something.”
I thought about the email.
May you like
“They know I did.”
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