Chapter 10 - THE UNCLE WHO CAME BACK FOR THE HOTEL
Alexander Vale did not behave like a fugitive.
He behaved like a man arriving for a meeting he had scheduled years earlier.
He took the empty chair opposite Charlotte.
Several board members seemed to recognize him.
That interested her.
“Who here knew my uncle was in New York?”
Nobody answered.
Alexander chuckled.
“Still dramatic, I see.”
Charlotte ignored him.
“Where is Victoria Sterling?”
Alexander’s expression did not change.
“No idea.”
“You signaled her this morning.”
Silence around the table.
Alexander looked impressed.
“You recovered the footage.”
“Why did you tell her to attack me?”
“I didn’t.”
“You made a signal.”
“To warn her.”
“About what?”
“That she was about to embarrass herself.”
Charlotte leaned forward.
“That’s your explanation?”
“It’s the truth.”
“Where is Caleb Rusk?”
Alexander’s smile disappeared.
“Caleb is dangerous.”
“You know him.”
“So did your father.”
“Did you kill William?”
The room froze.
Alexander stared at Charlotte.
For several seconds, he looked genuinely hurt.
“No.”
“Did you know someone intended to?”
“No.”
“Did you meet him in Room 417 three nights before he died?”
Alexander looked toward the board members.
“Everyone out.”
Charlotte said, “Stay.”
Alexander smiled faintly.
“You’ve changed.”
“You haven’t answered.”
“Yes. I met William.”
“What did you discuss?”
Alexander folded his hands.
“The Solmere.”
“Try again.”
“The hotel was always the battlefield.”
“For what?”
Alexander looked at Charlotte as though deciding whether she was ready.
Then:
“Control of Vale Group.”
Charlotte frowned.
“I control Vale Group.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Charlotte felt the room tighten.
Alexander continued.
“You control the shares your father believed he owned.”
Mara, standing near the wall, stepped forward.
“Believed?”
Alexander looked at her.
“So William kept you around.”
Charlotte tapped the table.
“Explain.”
Alexander took a document from his briefcase.
He slid it across.
It was old.
Dated thirty-one years earlier.
A partnership restructuring agreement.
Charlotte scanned it.
Then stopped.
A clause granted an entity called Founders Preservation Trust a contingent ownership interest in Solmere Hotel Holdings if certain debt conditions were triggered.
Charlotte looked up.
“What is this?”
“Your grandfather nearly lost the company in 1995.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the family version.”
Alexander pointed at the document.
“He borrowed money privately.”
“From whom?”
“A group of investors.”
“What group?”
“People who did not like being publicly identified.”
Charlotte felt a chill.
“Room 417.”
Alexander nodded.
“The room came later. The group came first.”
“What did they own?”
“Originally? Twenty percent.”
“And now?”
Alexander smiled without humor.
“That is what your father was trying to determine.”
Charlotte looked at the board.
“Who knew?”
Malcolm Reeves looked away.
Charlotte stood.
“You knew.”
Malcolm said nothing.
“How long?”
“Charlotte, this is complicated.”
She slammed the document down.
“How long?”
“Three years.”
Her stomach turned.
“Did my father know?”
“Yes.”
“And you kept it from me after his death?”
“We believed disclosure would destabilize the company.”
“You mean destabilize your positions.”
“Be reasonable.”
Charlotte looked around the table.
“Anyone who knew about this and failed to disclose it is suspended from board activity effective immediately.”
Malcolm stood.
“You cannot remove directors unilaterally.”
“No. But I can suspend access to the property, financial systems, and executive operations while counsel determines whether you breached fiduciary duties.”
Alexander watched with open amusement.
“You really are William’s daughter.”
Charlotte turned on him.
“Don’t flatter me.”
“I’m not.”
“What does Founders Preservation Trust own today?”
Alexander’s amusement disappeared.
“Possibly enough to take the Solmere away from you.”
Charlotte stared.
“Who controls it?”
“That’s the part William discovered.”
Alexander reached into his briefcase again.
This time he removed a photograph.
William stood beside Conrad Sterling.
Nathan Cole.
A younger Caleb Rusk.
And Alexander.
They were inside a room Charlotte had never seen.
Black walls.
No windows.
Behind them was a steel door marked 417.
Alexander placed the photo on the table.
“Your father thought Conrad Sterling controlled the trust.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Who did?”
Alexander looked directly at Charlotte.
“Your mother.”
Charlotte stopped breathing.
“My mother died nine years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Then who controls it now?”
May you like
Alexander’s expression became almost sympathetic.
“That depends on whether your mother is actually dead.”
