Chapter 3 - The Company With No Employees
Monday morning, Olivia asked her firm's forensic finance team to examine every publicly accessible company connected to Henry.
She told them not to contact anyone.
No calls.
No letters.
No alerts.
At noon, senior associate Julian Avery entered her office carrying a tablet.
Julian had joined Olivia six months after she founded the firm.
He was forty-one, meticulous, patient, and one of only three people who knew how bad Olivia's relationship with her parents really was.
"You were right," he said.
"About?"
"Something being weird."
He placed the tablet before her.
"Henry transferred significant assets out of Reed Industrial Consulting eight months ago."
"To where?"
"Different entities."
"His?"
"Some."
Julian swiped.
"Then three months ago, several of those entities borrowed money."
"How much?"
"At least eighteen million."
Olivia stared at him.
"Against what collateral?"
"That's where it gets interesting."
He opened another document.
One loan referenced anticipated distributions from Reed Family Trust.
Olivia frowned.
"There is no Reed Family Trust."
"Publicly, no."
Another document.
Another shell company.
Then another.
Finally Julian reached a Delaware LLC.
Westridge Administrative Partners.
No employees.
No website.
No visible office.
Westridge had purchased multiple loans connected to Henry's businesses.
"Who owns Westridge?"
"Hidden behind two holding companies."
"Beneficial owner?"
"We're still tracing."
Olivia read the filing date.
Six months earlier.
Exactly when Henry had first started pressuring her to "bring the firm into the family structure."
Julian sat opposite her.
"Does your father have any legal interest in Reed Avery?"
"No."
"Could he think he does?"
Olivia looked up.
"What does that mean?"
"Family promises. Old agreements. Something informal."
"No."
"Anything from your grandfather?"
That made Olivia pause.
Her grandfather, Charles Reed, had died nine years earlier.
He had been complicated.
Tough.
Traditional.
But unlike Henry, Charles had respected Olivia's ambition.
Two months before his death, he had attended the tiny opening reception for her first office.
Twenty employees had squeezed into a space meant for twelve.
Charles stood in the middle of the room and told her:
Never confuse family loyalty with surrender.
At the time, Olivia assumed he was speaking generally.
Now the memory felt different.
Julian noticed her expression.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"That's not nothing."
"My grandfather used to keep private trusts."
Julian leaned forward.
"For whom?"
"Grandchildren. Employees. Charities. Sometimes he created entities nobody knew about until years later."
"Could one own part of your firm?"
"No."
She was certain.
Mostly.
The office phone rang.
Her assistant.
"Your mother is here."
Olivia looked at the clock.
Margaret had not scheduled an appointment.
"Send her in."
Margaret entered three minutes later carrying a designer handbag.
No greeting.
No smile.
She placed a document on Olivia's desk.
"Your father wants this handled before Wednesday."
Olivia glanced at it.
Personal guarantee.
Her guarantee.
For twelve million dollars.
She looked up.
"What exactly do you think this is?"
"A temporary guarantee."
"Using my assets."
"The family's assets."
"My firm is not a family asset."
Margaret laughed.
"That's what Henry said you'd say."
Olivia pushed the document back.
"No."
Margaret did not take it.
Instead she walked toward the window.
"You know what your problem has always been?"
"According to you, several things."
"You enjoy humiliating your father."
Olivia almost smiled.
"I turned down a loan guarantee."
"You embarrass him publicly."
"This conversation isn't public."
"Everything becomes public eventually."
That sentence felt rehearsed.
Olivia watched her mother.
"Is that a threat?"
Margaret turned.
"It's advice."
"For what?"
"Tomorrow morning, Henry is announcing a new investment group."
"Good for him."
"He expects you there."
"I have court."
"You should cancel."
"I won't."
Margaret's lips tightened.
"You are pushing him into a corner."
"No. Debt is pushing him into a corner."
For the first time, Margaret's composure cracked.
Only for a second.
Olivia saw it.
"You know about the debt."
Margaret picked up the guarantee.
"You always think knowing one fact means you understand everything."
"Who owns Westridge?"
Margaret froze.
There.
The smallest reaction.
But enough.
Olivia stood.
"You know."
Margaret moved toward the door.
"Come tomorrow."
"Who owns Westridge?"
Margaret opened the door.
Then she looked back.
"I would worry less about who owns your father's debt."
She smiled.
"And more about who thinks they own you."
The door closed.
Julian had heard everything.
He slowly looked at Olivia.
"That sounded bad."
Olivia stared at the empty doorway.
"No."
May you like
She reached for the phone.
"That sounded useful."
