Chapter 17 - SouthfieldThe old warehouse smelled exactly the same.
Dust.
Oil.
Summer heat trapped in brick.
Marcus unlocked the side door.
Simone stepped inside behind him.
Neither had visited together since their father died.
The building had been partially preserved inside Carter Prestige’s restoration complex.
Modern workshops surrounded it, but Marcus refused to demolish the original central bay.
Elijah’s workbench remained against one wall.
Simone touched the scarred wood.
“He used to hide cash under here.”
Marcus laughed.
“Because he didn’t trust banks.”
“He didn’t trust anybody.”
“Family tradition.”
They walked deeper.
The old bicycle photograph felt alive here.
Simone stopped near the far wall.
“You really did cheat.”
“You cut through Dad’s paint area.”
“That wasn’t cheating.”
“You knocked over six cans.”
“Strategy.”
She smiled.
Then her face changed.
“Why didn’t you tell me about the development plan?”
Marcus looked toward her.
“You knew we were considering expansion.”
“Not that Southfield was essential.”
“It wasn’t final.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Marcus inhaled.
“Because you had begun asking about the property again.”
“And?”
“And I was afraid if you knew the strategic value, you’d use it against me.”
Simone laughed once.
“After everything we’ve uncovered, you were still doing it.”
“What?”
“Deciding what truth I could handle.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
She was right.
Again.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do you know how irritating it is when you apologize before I finish yelling?”
“I’m improving.”
“Don’t get smug.”
They sat on wooden crates.
Marcus explained.
Carter Prestige intended to build an EV research and artisan manufacturing campus across six connected parcels.
Southfield was the central access point.
Without it, development remained possible but significantly more expensive.
Grant had likely calculated that property disputes could delay financing or force a joint venture.
Simone said, “If he controlled my interest, he could hold the project hostage.”
“Depending on trust terms.”
“Which didn’t exist because you never created the trust.”
Marcus nodded.
“My misconduct created his opportunity.”
“So did mine.”
She looked toward the old photograph Marcus had brought.
“Maybe Dad should have left everything to Jayden.”
Marcus laughed.
“Jayden would turn this into a dinosaur museum.”
“Still better governance.”
Their laughter faded.
Simone became serious.
“I want my forty percent.”
“You should have it.”
“But I don’t want veto power over normal company operations.”
Marcus looked surprised.
“Why?”
“Because Dad gave me economic participation, not a weapon.”
Marcus nodded.
“We can draft the trust accordingly.”
“I want protection against a sale below fair value.”
“Reasonable.”
“And independent approval for related-party leases.”
“Already exists.”
“I want it in the trust too.”
“Fine.”
She looked at him.
“And I want the company to stop leasing the property from you personally.”
Marcus frowned.
“What do you suggest?”
“The trust owns it directly.”
Marcus thought.
“That has tax and financing implications.”
“Then solve them.”
He smiled.
“You sound like me.”
“Take it back.”
A noise echoed from the front bay.
Both turned.
Victoria entered.
“I figured I’d find you here.”
Marcus stood.
“What happened?”
She carried a folder.
“The development consortium that approached Elijah years ago?”
“Yes?”
“It was called North Crest Urban Partners.”
Simone nodded.
“So?”
Victoria handed Marcus an ownership chart.
North Crest had been funded through three holding companies.
At the end of the chain sat Mercer Capital.
Marcus stared.
Grant had wanted Southfield before Carter Prestige was even large enough to interest him as a company.
“So this started with the land.”
Victoria nodded.
“Possibly.”
Simone looked around the warehouse.
“Why?”
Victoria unfolded an old municipal map.
“Transportation corridor.”
A proposed rail and logistics expansion had been quietly discussed for years.
Southfield sat near a future interchange.
Grant’s original goal may have been property accumulation.
When Marcus transformed Carter Prestige into a high-value company, the target expanded.
Land became shares.
Shares became control.
Marcus said, “We need to know whether he used nonpublic government information.”
Naomi, joining by phone, cautioned them.
“Do not speculate. Property investors study proposed infrastructure routinely. We stick to provable facts.”
Marcus sighed.
“Naomi can make conspiracy boring.”
“That’s why she’s useful,” Victoria said.
Simone stared at the map.
“If Grant has been trying to buy this property for nearly a decade, he isn’t walking away because he resigned from the board.”
Marcus agreed.
As if summoned by the thought, his phone rang.
Grant Mercer.
Marcus looked at the screen.
Simone said, “Answer.”
He did.
“Grant.”
“Marcus.”
His voice remained calm.
“I hear you finally found the old warehouse documents.”
“What do you want?”
“To stop wasting everyone’s time.”
“Then confess.”
Grant laughed.
“To what? Competitive intelligence? Aggressive investing? Your family made its own mistakes.”
Marcus looked toward Simone.
“That part is true.”
Grant paused.
Marcus continued.
“You understood our weaknesses. Congratulations.”
“You think that’s an insult?”
“No.”
Marcus’s voice steadied.
“I think it means your entire strategy depended on us refusing to tell each other the truth.”
Grant went quiet.
Marcus said, “That stopped.”
Grant’s voice hardened.
“You still have shareholders.”
“Yes.”
“You still have debt.”
“Yes.”
“You still need capital for Southfield.”
“Yes.”
“And I can make sure no institutional investor touches that project.”
Marcus smiled.
“Then you finally made a clear threat.”
“I made a prediction.”
“Naomi will enjoy the distinction.”
Grant hung up.
Simone looked at Marcus.
“That felt good?”
“A little.”
Victoria’s phone buzzed.
She checked it.
Her expression changed.
“What?”
“The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.”
Marcus waited.
“They have the warehouse story.”
Simone closed her eyes.
“Grant.”
“Maybe.”
Victoria continued.
“They’re publishing tonight.”
Marcus asked, “What angle?”
She read.
BILLIONAIRE CAR EXECUTIVE WITHHELD FAMILY PROPERTY INTEREST FROM SISTER FOR YEARS.
Marcus looked around the warehouse.
This time the story was true.
There would be no clever rebuttal.
No villain to blame.
Only a choice.
Hide.
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Deflect.
Or tell the truth before someone else told it for him.
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