Chapter 7 - VICTOR CROSS’S THREAT
I recorded the call.
Victor either did not know or did not care.
“Whitmore Hospitality will default without my financing.”
I stood beside Sophie’s hospital window.
“Then Preston should have told shareholders.”
“He was trying to preserve confidence.”
“He framed a child.”
“That was Preston.”
“Your daughter was there.”
Silence.
“Audrey did not plant the phone.”
“No.”
“She only helped plan the timing.”
Victor stopped speaking.
That was enough.
I continued.
“You knew about Project Monday.”
“You’re not a businesswoman anymore, Evelyn.”
I almost smiled.
“That’s interesting.”
“What?”
“You’re talking to the woman holding the vote you need.”
Silence again.
Victor changed tone.
“Sign the proxy.”
“I’ll increase your personal payout.”
“How much?”
“Twenty million.”
I laughed.
He thought that surprised me.
It did.
Just not the way he wanted.
“You’re offering me twenty million dollars to give you control of land worth hundreds of millions.”
“You don’t understand development.”
“No.”
“But my grandfather did.”
Victor’s voice hardened.
“You think sentiment protects hotels?”
“No.”
“Documents do.”
I ended the call.
Naomi later confirmed something worse.
Victor’s six-hundred-million-dollar financing was not rescue capital.
Much of it would refinance debt while granting Cross Meridian purchase options over hotel land.
If Whitmore missed performance targets, Victor could acquire the properties at discounted valuations.
Preston had not saved the family company.
He had put it on a path toward handing the real estate to his new father-in-law.
Why?
Because Preston would receive equity in the combined operating company.
He would lose family land.
But gain personal shares.
Once again, Preston chose himself over the family he claimed to represent.
Then our CFO, Michael Tan, contacted me.
He wanted to talk privately.
Michael had worked for Whitmore Hospitality for twelve years.
He carried a flash drive.
“The debt is worse than the board knows.”
“How much worse?”
“Three hundred and eighty million dollars.”
I stared at him.
“Hidden where?”
“Subsidiaries.”
“Who approved it?”
“Preston.”
“My father?”
Michael hesitated.
“Some.”
My stomach sank.
Michael continued.
“Your grandfather’s hotel was profitable.”
“Preston used its cash flow to support failed expansion projects.”
“Which ones?”
“Dubai.”
“Miami.”
“Aspen.”
“And a private resort development in the Bahamas.”
I had never heard of the Bahamas project.
Michael opened a photograph.
A luxury villa under construction.
Owner.
PWH Ventures.
Preston William Whitmore.
My brother had used family debt to help finance his own private resort.
Then blamed my refusal to sell the hotel for the company’s crisis.
May you like
Project Monday was not rescue.
It was cleanup.
