Chapter 3 - The Billion-Dollar Trap
Grant didn't let me leave.
Technically, he asked.
Practically, five minutes later I was sitting inside Holloway Capital's main conference room while twelve executives argued around me.
One analyst pointed toward the screen.
“We sell now.”
“Eight hundred million?” another said. “Into what liquidity?”
“We reduce.”
“And tell the entire market we're panicking?”
Grant stood at the head of the table.
“Enough.”
Everyone stopped.
He pointed toward me.
“Fiona.”
Half the room looked irritated that a waitress had been invited.
“What would you do?”
A gray-haired executive frowned.
“Grant, seriously?”
Grant never looked at him.
“Fiona?”
I stood.
“First, stop discussing selling.”
“Why?” someone asked.
“Because if management believes Holloway Capital discovered the covenant problem, they’ll assume you're preparing to exit.”
“They already requested a meeting.”
“Exactly.”
Grant understood.
“You think they're trying to measure what we know.”
“Yes.”
Nolan leaned forward.
“So we act normal.”
“We act bored.”
The gray-haired executive scoffed.
“And then?”
“Then you verify whether the covenant filing changes before noon.”
“And if it does?”
“Then you don't have an investment problem.”
I looked around the table.
“You have a credibility crisis.”
Silence.
Grant said, “Explain.”
“If management knowingly withheld material deterioration while negotiating with major investors, everyone will rush for the door when it becomes public.”
Nolan nodded slowly.
“Not just equity.”
“Debt too.”
Grant looked toward his general counsel.
“Can we prove intent?”
“Not yet.”
I spoke.
“You might not need to.”
Every face turned toward me.
“There’s another filing.”
Grant frowned.
“What filing?”
“Pipeline utilization.”
One analyst shook his head.
“We checked.”
“You checked the parent company.”
“So?”
“The pipeline is operated through a joint venture.”
Grant immediately looked at Nolan.
“Find it.”
Nolan typed.
Thirty seconds.
Then sixty.
His eyes widened.
“Found it.”
Grant walked behind him.
“What does it say?”
Nolan turned the monitor.
Nobody spoke.
The utilization collapse had started months earlier.
Management had known.
Grant slowly straightened.
“Son of a—”
His phone rang.
The CEO of the energy company had arrived downstairs.
Grant looked at me.
“You're coming.”
The gray-haired executive objected.
“She absolutely is not.”
Grant turned.
“Why?”
“Because she's a waitress.”
The room went silent.
Grant stared at him.
Twenty-four hours earlier, he might have said the same thing.
Instead he replied, “Yesterday that waitress knew more about our largest position than this entire floor.”
The executive flushed.
Grant opened the door.
“She comes.”
The meeting began eleven minutes later.
The energy CEO, Martin Keller, entered with two attorneys.
His smile was perfect.
“Grant.”
“Martin.”
They shook hands.
Then Keller saw me.
His smile faltered.
Only slightly.
But I saw it.
Grant saw me see it.
“Who is this?” Keller asked.
Grant sat.
“Consultant.”
I nearly smiled.
Keller didn't.
They spent fifteen minutes talking around the issue.
Market conditions.
Commodity pricing.
Temporary headwinds.
Strategic opportunities.
Finally Grant leaned back.
“What happens if utilization remains below twenty percent?”
Keller stopped.
“Where did you get that number?”
Grant didn't answer.
Keller’s eyes moved toward me.
I knew immediately.
He knew who I was.
Grant noticed.
“Martin?”
Keller forced a smile.
“Seventeen percent is an absurd estimate.”
Nobody had said seventeen.
Nolan froze.
Grant’s expression became completely still.
I spoke quietly.
“I agree.”
Keller looked at me.
I continued.
“Which is why it's interesting you knew the number.”
The room changed.
One of Keller’s attorneys whispered something.
Keller stood.
“This meeting is over.”
Grant remained seated.
“No.”
“You’re accusing me of something?”
“I'm asking why you knew a confidential estimate we never mentioned.”
Keller looked at me again.
This time there was no confusion.
Only anger.
“You should be careful, Ms. Adams.”
Grant’s eyes sharpened.
“I never told you her name.”
Silence.
Keller realized his mistake.
Too late.
Grant stood.
The atmosphere became colder.
“You knew exactly who she was when you entered this room.”
Keller said nothing.
Grant stepped around the table.
“Which means somebody has been watching her.”
Keller grabbed his folder.
“You're becoming paranoid.”
He headed for the door.
Grant’s voice stopped him.
“Martin.”
Keller turned.
Grant’s tone was quiet.
“If anyone from your company contacts Fiona again, you contact my attorneys first.”
Keller left.
The door closed.
Nobody moved.
Grant turned toward me.
“You're not going home alone.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“I believe you.”
“Then—”
“But somebody identified an anonymous researcher who lives in the Bronx and waits tables on Madison Avenue.”
He stepped closer.
“That isn't an accident.”
My phone vibrated.
Another anonymous message.
I opened it.
A photograph appeared.
My apartment building.
Taken that morning.
Below it were five words.
You should have stayed invisible.
Grant read it over my shoulder.
His face changed.
No arrogance.
No amusement.
Just cold concentration.
He looked at Nolan.
“Get security.”
Then at me.
May you like
“Fiona, this stopped being about money.”
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