Chapter 4: What Gerald Knows
Grace called before we landed.
I had the window seat and the sky outside had gone from blue to the flat grey of the Boston coast, and I had spent most of the flight reading the Meridian Capital acquisition file I kept on my phone for exactly the kind of moments when I couldn't sleep and needed something to be angry about productively.
I answered on the second ring.
"Talk to me," I said.
"Gerald Holt," Grace said.
"Sixty-three.
Harvard MBA.
Joined Meridian's board eight years ago.
He's not the loudest voice in the room but he's the one who signs off on deal structure."
"He's the one who keeps blocking our counter-offer on Coastal."
"Every time.
Their legal team files a new objection, it has Holt's fingerprints on it.
Not literally, but—"
"I understand.
What else?"
"His wife Patricia has no professional profile worth noting.
Charity boards.
A few donor listings.
She travels on his status."
"I know.
Renee told me."
A pause.
"How bad was it?"
I looked up the aisle.
Patricia Holt had not moved from 12C.
Her neck was still straight.
Her hands were still folded.
"She pushed my bag off the seat," I said.
"Told the flight attendant I didn't look like I belonged in first class."
Grace was quiet for a moment.
"In front of witnesses."
"Six rows worth."
"And then she found out who you were."
"Yes."
"And now you're calling me from the same plane."
"Yes."
Another pause.
"Marcus." She only used my first name when she was about to say something she needed me to actually hear.
"What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking about coincidences."
"This could be one."
"It could be."
"Gerald Holt's wife just happens to be on your flight."
"It happens."
"Marcus."
"I know." I shifted in my seat.
"I'm not going to do anything on the plane.
I just want to know what we're walking into when we land."
"The Coastal deal closes in nineteen days," Grace said.
"If Meridian files one more structural objection, we lose the exclusivity window.
We'd have to start over."
"I know the timeline."
"So whatever happened on that plane—"
"I said I know."
She let the silence sit for a moment.
Grace was good at silence.
It was one of the things I paid her for.
"There's something else," she said.
"Go ahead."
"Coastal's CEO — Ray Tillman — called this morning.
Before I heard about the flight.
He said he'd received a call from someone at Meridian last week.
An informal call.
Off the record."
I waited.
"They told him the Calloway offer was going to fall through," Grace said.
"That you were overextended.
That the financing wasn't solid."
The cabin lights flickered once as we hit a small pocket of turbulence.
Nobody reacted.
"That's not true," I said.
"I know it's not true.
Tillman knows it's not true.
But he's nervous.
He's been nervous for two weeks and now I understand why."
"Who made the call?"
"He wouldn't say.
But he said the person knew details about our financing structure that weren't public."
I looked at the seat in front of me.
The tray table was up.
The headrest was slightly worn at the center.
Thirty thousand feet of air between me and the ground.
"Someone leaked our structure," I said.
"Or someone guessed very well."
"Grace."
"I know."
"Find out who made that call."
"I'm already trying.
Marcus—" She stopped.
"What?"
"Be careful how you handle this.
If you go after Holt directly and it looks personal, it gives Meridian a narrative.
Calloway harasses board member's wife on a flight, then retaliates against the board member.
That's a story someone could use."
She was right.
She was almost always right, which was occasionally inconvenient.
"I'm not going to harass anyone," I said.
"I know you're not.
I'm telling you how it could be framed."
The seatbelt sign chimed on.
Outside, the Boston skyline was coming up through the grey.
"Set up a call with Tillman for tomorrow morning," I said.
"And get me everything we have on Meridian's last three structural objections.
Every filing, every signature, every date."
"Done.
Anything else?"
I looked up the aisle one last time.
Patricia Holt was gathering her bag from under the seat in front of her.
Getting ready to deplane.
She still hadn't looked back.
"One more thing," I said.
"Find out if Gerald Holt is in Boston this week."
Grace paused.
"Why?"
"Because his wife is."
The line was quiet for a moment.
"I'll find out," she said.
We landed four minutes later.
I let most of the cabin empty before I stood.
Darnell waited at the rear.
Renee was collecting cups near the front.
As I passed row 12, I noticed that Patricia Holt had left something on her seat.
A boarding pass.
The return flight.
Boston to New York.
Tomorrow evening.
I picked it up.
Looked at it.
Set it back on the armrest.
She would find it, or she wouldn't.
But as I stepped off the jetway into the terminal, my phone buzzed with a message from Grace.
*Gerald Holt is at the Four Seasons Boston.
Has been since Monday.
He's here for a meeting.*
I stopped walking.
*What meeting?* I typed.
May you like
The reply came in under a minute.
*With Ray Tillman.*
