Chapter 4 - Twelve PercentMarcus closed his office door.
Simone remained standing.
“Sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“Sit.”
She did.
Marcus stayed behind his desk because if he stood close to her, he was not sure whether he would shout.
“When?”
“Eleven months ago.”
“Two point four million dollars?”
“Yes.”
“From Grant Mercer personally?”
“From a private lending company he controls.”
“What did you pledge?”
Silence.
Marcus already knew.
“Your Carter Prestige shares.”
Simone’s jaw tightened.
“I didn’t sell them.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“It’s collateral.”
Marcus stared at her.
“You pledged twelve percent of the company to a man who has spent three years trying to increase his influence over my board.”
“Our board.”
Marcus caught himself.
There it was.
The old wound.
“Our board,” he repeated.
Simone looked away.
“Why?”
“My foundation project collapsed.”
“What project?”
“The West End arts center.”
“I thought donors covered it.”
“They pulled out after construction started.”
“You should have called me.”
Simone laughed bitterly.
“So you could rescue me?”
“So you didn’t put the company at risk.”
“Everything is always the company with you.”
“No. Right now this is about you signing over leverage to Grant.”
“I didn’t sign over voting control.”
“Did you read the default provisions?”
She hesitated.
Marcus felt sick.
“You didn’t.”
“I had attorneys.”
“Grant’s attorneys?”
Simone looked down.
Marcus turned toward the window.
Atlanta spread below them.
His father used to say skyscrapers were just garages with better suits.
Marcus had believed success would make family arguments smaller.
Instead it had made every argument worth millions.
“How far behind are you?”
Simone whispered, “Three payments.”
Marcus turned.
“What?”
“I’ve been covering interest through the foundation consulting budget.”
Marcus’s face went still.
“Say that again.”
“It wasn’t charity money.”
“That is not the standard.”
“It was administrative revenue.”
“You moved foundation money to service personal debt?”
“I was going to replace it.”
Marcus pressed his palms against the desk.
“How much?”
“Three hundred and eighty thousand.”
He closed his eyes.
“That’s not a mistake, Simone.”
“I know.”
“That can cost you your position. Depending on how it was booked, it can trigger tax and fiduciary problems.”
“I know.”
“No, you keep saying that after telling me things no responsible person who knew would have done.”
She stood.
“Do you want me to cry? Would that make this easier for you?”
“I want you to stop lying.”
“I was trying to keep something alive!”
“So you hid debt, pledged shares and misused foundation funds?”
“I was trying to build something that had my name on it!”
The sentence stunned both of them.
Marcus stared.
Simone’s breathing changed.
She wiped under one eye angrily.
“Everything we built became Marcus Carter’s story.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?”
She pointed toward the framed magazine covers.
“Founder. Visionary. Automotive king. Self-made billionaire.”
“I never called myself self-made.”
“You never corrected anybody loud enough.”
Marcus flinched.
Simone continued.
“Dad mortgaged his house for your first garage.”
“I paid every dollar back.”
“Mom worked weekends.”
“I know.”
“I dropped out of Spelman for a semester when Dad got sick.”
“So did I.”
“No. You turned the garage into an empire while I stayed in hospital rooms.”
Marcus stepped toward her.
“I was paying the hospital bills.”
“And making sure everybody knew it.”
His expression hardened.
“That’s unfair.”
“So was Dad’s warehouse.”
The room changed.
Marcus said quietly, “Don’t.”
Simone laughed.
“There it is.”
“That property has nothing to do with this.”
“It has everything to do with this.”
Their father, Elijah Carter, had owned a brick warehouse south of downtown.
Marcus used it as his first restoration facility.
Today the land beneath it was worth nearly eighteen million dollars.
The deed belonged to Marcus personally.
Simone had contested it emotionally for years, though never legally.
“Dad transferred it to me,” Marcus said.
“Three months before morphine made him sleep sixteen hours a day.”
“He had counsel.”
“Your counsel.”
“Our family attorney.”
“Who now works for your company.”
Marcus lowered his voice.
“Be careful.”
“No. You be careful.”
Her eyes burned.
“You want to judge every desperate decision I made? Fine. Tell me why Dad gave you the one piece of family property he always said was for both of us.”
“He changed his mind.”
“Did he?”
Marcus did not answer quickly enough.
Simone noticed.
“What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You hesitated.”
“Because I’m trying not to say something I regret.”
“No.”
She stepped closer.
“You know something.”
Marcus shook his head.
“You have spent eight years telling me there was nothing else to know.”
“There isn’t.”
Simone stared at him.
Then she said the one sentence Marcus had feared for years.
“Then show me the closing file.”
Marcus’s silence betrayed him again.
Simone’s voice dropped.
“You still have it.”
“Simone—”
“You told me Dad’s lawyer lost the annex.”
“I said the copy couldn’t be located.”
“You have it.”
“No.”
But his face had already answered.
Simone backed away.
“What did you do?”
Before Marcus could reply, Naomi opened the door.
Her expression was grave.
“The board is assembled.”
Marcus looked at Simone.
Naomi continued.
“And Grant Mercer has circulated a resolution.”
“What resolution?”
“To appoint a special committee with authority to remove you as CEO pending investigation.”
Marcus almost laughed.
“On what grounds?”
Naomi placed a document on his desk.
The title read:
FAILURE OF EXECUTIVE OVERSIGHT, REPUTATIONAL HARM, AND UNDISCLOSED RELATED-PARTY PROPERTY CONFLICTS.
Marcus stopped at the last phrase.
Naomi looked between the siblings.
“Someone gave Grant information about the warehouse.”
Simone whispered, “Not me.”
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Marcus believed her.
Which meant the secret he had spent years containing had already escaped the family.
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