Chapter 5 - The Emergency Board Meeting — "How My Father Tried to Sell the Family Estate for $1 in the Hotel Kitchen!"
"Richard! In here! Now!"
The voice came from Arthur Pendelton, the seventy-year-old chairman of the Belmont Group’s board of directors. He had just stood up from table one, his face dark with fury, holding the forensic report Elias’s associate had handed him. He didn't look at the party. He didn't look at the press. He marched straight through the double silver doors into the industrial prep kitchen behind my table.
My father followed him like a beaten dog, his tuxedo jacket flapping open, his brow covered in a thick sheet of sweat. My mother and Vanessa scrambled after them, their heels clicking violently on the stainless-steel kitchen floor.
"Claire, come with us," Elias whispered, guiding me through the doors before the security guards could block the entrance.
The kitchen was a stark contrast to the glittering ballroom. Here, under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent lights, surrounded by steel counters, giant pots of commercial soup, and terrified kitchen staff who quickly retreated to the dishwashing area, the Belmont dynasty looked exactly like what it was: a criminal syndicate running out of gas.
"Arthur, listen to me," my father pleaded, backing up against a massive commercial refrigerator. "The audit is flawed. It’s a setup by Mercer’s firm. They’ve been trying to hostile-takeover our logistics wing for five years. Claire is unstable—she’s been seeing a therapist since she was sixteen—"
"Shut up, Richard!" Arthur Pendelton roared, slamming his open hand onto a stainless-steel prep table. The sound echoed like a gunshot through the industrial kitchen.
"The numbers don't lie! This report has the certified routing numbers from the Federal Reserve! You stole twelve million dollars from your mother’s restricted healthcare trust to cover the short-margin calls on our shipping stocks last winter! You lied to the board! You told us the liquidity was coming from a European sovereign wealth fund!"
"We can replace it!" Vanessa interrupted, her voice high and frantic as she grabbed Arthur’s sleeve. "Mr. Pendelton, please! I’ve just been offered a junior partnership at McKinsey in New York! The family name is still good! We can leverage the Belmont Manor estate! We can sell the deed tonight! We can sign it over to the board for one dollar as collateral until the market corrects!"
I stepped forward, my boots clicking firmly on the grease-stained tile.
"You can't sell the manor, Vanessa," I said, leaning against a clean steel counter. "Because Grandma Eleanor signed the deed over to me three months before she died. You’re trying to sell a house you don't own to pay for a crime you've already committed."
My father turned on me, his eyes wide, wild, and completely detached from reality. He lunged across the prep table, his hands reaching for my neck. "You miserable little bitch! I should have left you in the dirt where you belong! You’ve destroyed everything I spent thirty years building!"
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Before his fingers could even graze my collar, two uniformed federal marshals, who had been waiting in the service hallway on Elias’s orders, burst through the back doors. They grabbed my father by his shoulders, slamming his face down onto the cold stainless-steel counter, right next to a tray of unserved salmon appetizers.
"Richard Belmont," the lead marshal declared, his voice echoing with absolute authority. "You are under arrest for federal wire fraud, identity theft, and grand larceny. Hands behind your back."
