A sharp gasp echoed down the line. “Two hundred and fifty million?” Nina whispered. “We don’t have that in liquidity. Not even close. Payroll is on Friday!”
“Well,” I said, resting my cheek against my knuckles. “Martin wanted to modernize leadership. Let’s see how his slides look when the bank freezes our clearing accounts at noon.”
Part 3: The Boardroom Anatomy
Upstairs, the boardroom looked less like an executive suite and more like a crime scene.
Martin Vale’s slim gray suit was no longer immaculate. The jacket was draped over the back of a leather chair, his silk tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up in a pathetic imitation of my grandfather’s portrait downstairs. He was bright red in the face, leaning so far over the mahogany table that his nose was nearly touching the speakerphone.
“Find her!” Martin roared at the phone, his voice cracking with the frantic pitch of a man realizing too late that he had jumped out of an airplane without a parachute. “Call her cell! Offer her a bonus! Offer her a corner office on the tenth floor! Just get Clara Tennant back in this building before the wire transfers fail at midday!”
