Chapter 5: What Grant Said When No One Was Watching
The east conference room had a long oval table, a window that faced the courtyard, and a small camera mounted near the ceiling in the corner.
Sloane had checked the camera herself before she walked in.
It was recording.
Grant was alone.
His attorney had stepped out, or been asked to.
He was standing at the window with his back to the door when Sloane entered, and he didn't turn around immediately.
It was a posture she recognized — he used it when he wanted to appear calm and needed a few extra seconds to find it.
She sat down at the table and waited.
He turned.
He looked older than he had an hour ago in the lobby.
The performance had cost him something.
"I want to talk about a settlement," he said.
"I know you do."
He pulled out the chair across from her but didn't sit.
"The audit is going to find things that are complicated.
I want to explain them before they get interpreted incorrectly."
"You moved two point three million dollars out of a construction reserve into accounts I've never seen," Sloane said.
"What part of that needs interpretation?"
"It was a loan," he said.
"To myself.
I intended to replace it."
"From what?"
He hesitated.
"I had an investment that was going to return—"
"Grant." She said his name the way she used to say it when he was wasting her time at dinner.
"Don't."
He sat down.
He put both hands on the table.
"I can return the money.
All of it.
Within sixty days.
If you drop the audit and let the transfer proceed—"
"The transfer of my hotel to you and Bianca."
"It doesn't have to be Bianca's name on anything.
That was her idea.
I'll restructure it however you want.
You keep a percentage.
A significant percentage.
You stay on as a silent partner."
Sloane looked at him.
She had spent eleven years with this man.
She had watched him charm investors, charm contractors, charm her own mother at Christmas dinner.
She knew exactly what his face looked like when he was performing sincerity and what it looked like when he was actually afraid.
Right now he was afraid.
"You forged my signature," she said.
"That was a mistake in judgment.
I can explain the context—"
"You paid a man four thousand dollars a month to be ready to say he watched me sign a document I never touched."
Grant's mouth closed.
"You stood in the lobby of this hotel," she said, "in front of my investors and my press contacts and my staff, and you told me to sign over everything I built and leave." She paused.
"And now you want to offer me a percentage."
"I'm trying to find a solution that works for both of us."
"The solution that works for me," Sloane said, "is already in motion."
He leaned forward.
His voice dropped.
"Sloane.
Think about what a full criminal proceeding does to this hotel.
The publicity.
The uncertainty.
Investors pull back when there's legal exposure.
You know that.
You could protect the hotel right now by letting this stay civil."
It was a good move.
She had expected it, but it was still a good move.
He knew the hotel mattered more to her than punishing him.
He was counting on that.
"You're right that I care about this hotel," she said.
"I care about it enough to make sure the person who stole from it faces a real consequence.
Because if I settle quietly, the next person who looks at what you did and thinks about trying it — with me, or with anyone else — they'll know it worked out fine for you." She stood up.
"I'm not doing that."
"I will make this very difficult for you," he said.
It came out quietly, almost gently.
"I have documentation that puts your personal expenses through the construction budget.
A car.
A renovation on your mother's house.
Small things, but they're there, and in the middle of a fraud investigation they'll look worse than they are."
Sloane didn't move.
"My mother's house," she said.
"The roof repair.
Forty-six thousand.
Coded as site preparation."
She looked at him across the table.
He had found something real.
She had approved that expense herself, three years ago, when her mother had been ill and the house had been leaking and she had been exhausted and she had made a decision she hadn't thought about since.
He watched her face and saw that it had landed.
"Civil settlement," he said.
"Quiet.
Clean.
You keep the hotel, I walk away with enough to start over.
Nobody goes to court."
She picked up her phone from the table.
"Dana," she said when it connected.
"He just told me about the roof repair on my mother's house.
Coded to site prep, three years ago.
Pull it and have it reclassified before end of day.
Personal expense, paid back with interest." She paused.
"And send the camera footage from this room to Phillip."
She ended the call and looked at Grant.
"That's how you handle a mistake in judgment," she said.
"You fix it.
You don't use it as a weapon."
She walked to the door.
"Sloane—"
"Your attorney is in the lobby," she said.
"I'd go find him."
She stepped out and pulled the door closed behind her.
In the corridor, she stood still for a moment, one hand against the wall.
Her heart was going faster than she wanted it to.
She breathed once, slowly.
Then her phone buzzed again.
Dana.
*Marcus Hale just called.
May you like
He wants to make a full statement.
His attorney is already on the way.*
