Chapter 93
Lena's POV
"Or someone protecting her does." Alexander's tone shifted. "Lena, whoever Maria Bergmann is—or whoever she's working for—they have serious resources. The kind that can make people disappear from databases."
"What about the private investigator?"
"He came through with something." I heard papers rustling. "Two photos, actually. One is a clearer shot of her face from the café meeting with Marcus. The other—" He paused. "—is from six years ago, before she left the country. She was living in a slum district on the east side."
I pulled up my email as his message arrived. The contrast between the two images was stark. In the older photo, Maria looked gaunt, wearing cheap clothes, her hair limp and unstyled. In the recent shot, she was polished, confident, dressed in designer labels that cost more than most people's monthly rent.
"A woman from a slum suddenly has the resources to erase her entire identity?" I said slowly. "That's not normal upward mobility."
"No, it's not." Alexander's voice was grim. "Which means either she married into serious money—"
"Or she's being bankrolled by someone who wants to stay invisible." I zoomed in on the recent photo, studying her expression. There was something calculating in her eyes, something that suggested she was more than just Marcus's mistress. "Keep the investigator tracking her overseas movements. And Alexander—see if any European consortiums have been sniffing around Nexus Investment lately."
"You think there's a connection?"
"I think the timing is suspicious." Nexus's debt restructuring, Maria's mysterious resources, Marcus's confidence despite his legal troubles—the pieces felt related, even if I couldn't see the full picture yet. "Someone's orchestrating something. I just need to figure out who's conducting and who's dancing."
After we hung up, I stared at Maria's photos for a long moment. A slum girl doesn't become invisible without powerful backing. And powerful backing always wants something in return.
I pulled up the Nexus financial report again, cross-referencing the debt purchase timeline with Marcus's movements. The third-party acquisitions had started exactly one week after that café meeting with Maria.
Coincidence? I didn't believe in coincidences.
My phone buzzed—Rachel's text: Board meeting scheduled for 9 AM tomorrow. Emergency session. Topic undisclosed.
I leaned back in my chair, pieces of the puzzle shifting in my mind. Vivian must be making her move. Whatever she'd been planning, whatever deals she'd been cutting in private—tomorrow morning, it would go public.
I typed a response: Monitor who attends. Get me a list of everyone who walks into that building.
Then I opened my calendar and blocked off tomorrow morning. If Vivian was going to play her hand, I wanted to be there to see exactly what cards she was holding.
---
Rowan's POV
Colin sprawled in the chair across from my desk, looking entirely too pleased with himself for someone about to report on corporate espionage.
"Phase one is complete," he announced, sliding a folder across the polished wood. "Your boy Jack came through beautifully."
I opened the file, scanning the acquisition summary. Fifty-eight percent of Nexus Investment's floating debt, purchased through three separate shell companies over seventy-two hours. Total cost: forty-two million dollars—significantly below market value, thanks to creditors eager to dump toxic assets.
"Vivian doesn't know yet?"
"Not a clue." Colin's grin widened. "The shell companies are registered in Delaware, routed through my holding group's legal structure. Even if she traces the purchases, the trail dead-ends at entities she's never heard of."
Jack stepped forward from his position near the door, tablet in hand. "Mrs. Grant has called six emergency board meetings in the last forty-eight hours. She's contacted every major bank in the city looking for bridge financing. They've all declined."
"She's panicking," Colin observed with evident satisfaction.
"She's running out of options." I pulled up the timeline on my computer, cross-referencing Vivian's movements with our acquisition schedule. "What about the directors?"
Colin's expression turned serious. "I've made contact with three independent board members. They're fed up with the Marcus-Vivian civil war. Show them a reasonable offer, and they'll vote for new management."
"How reasonable?"
"Two hundred thirty million. Slightly above current market value, well below what Nexus was worth before Marcus's scandal broke." He leaned forward. "Here's the beauty of it—we structure the deal to 'retain existing management' on paper. Vivian gets to save face, keep her title, maintain the appearance of control. But actual decision-making authority? That transfers to the acquiring entity."
"Which is buried under enough legal layers that she'll never trace it back to you," Jack added.
I studied the proposal, noting the careful construction of each clause. Colin had done this before—hostile acquisitions disguised as friendly partnerships, corporate coups wrapped in diplomatic language.
"Timeline?"
"Formal acquisition offer hits the board tomorrow morning, nine AM." Colin checked his watch. "They'll have seven days to respond. After that, the offer expires and the debt holders—" He smiled. "—will start calling in their markers. Nexus will have sixty days to pay back everything or face insolvency proceedings."
Jack pulled up additional intelligence on his tablet. "We've also arranged for two of Nexus's major creditor banks to issue formal repayment demands within that same sixty-day window. Reynolds Industries' commercial relationships were... persuasive in encouraging their cooperation."
"So we're not just buying debt," I said slowly. "We're cutting off every other funding source simultaneously."
"Exactly." Colin's tone was matter-of-fact. "By the time Vivian realizes what's happening, she'll have exactly one option: accept our acquisition offer or watch Nexus implode."
I pulled up the intelligence summary Jack had compiled. Vivian's increasingly desperate movements painted a clear picture. Three calls to Gerald Johnson—but Johnson's counteroffer was only one hundred fifty million, contingent on Lena's immediate engagement. Two attempts to reach Alexander Pierce—both declined. Even a call to my mother, looking for "family support" through the old social networks.
"She contacted Lena seven times today," Jack reported quietly. "Text messages, calls. All ignored."