Falling Apart
1144 Words
Dominic
The office feels foreign when I walk in Monday morning. Like I’ve been gone for months instead of three days. Three days since we lost the baby. Three days since my world tilted on its axis and hasn’t righted itself since.
My second assistant, Jennifer, looks up from her desk as I approach, and something in her expression makes my stomach drop.
“Mr. Ashcroft.” She stands quickly. “Sir, we tried reaching you all day yesterday. Your phone was off and we couldn’t—”
“I canceled all my appointments for the week.” I move past her toward my office. “I made that clear.”
“Yes, sir. You did. But there was an emergency and we needed authorization and…” She’s following me, her voice climbing with anxiety. “Sir, you might want to check your email. Before you do anything else. Please.”
The please stops me. Jennifer has worked for me for six years and has never said please with that particular tone. The tone that says the building is on fire and I need to know before I sit down at my desk.
I open my laptop before I’ve even taken off my coat.
The first email is from my investment manager. The subject line is simply: URGENT - Market Correction Impact.
I open it.
The numbers don’t make sense at first. My brain refuses to process what I’m seeing. Portfolio value. Previous balance. Current balance. The difference between them.
Two point three million dollars.
Gone.
“What the f**k?” The words come out quiet, almost conversational, which is somehow worse than shouting. “What the f**k is this?”
“The real estate market crashed Friday afternoon.” Jennifer’s voice is small. “A major correction. Development stocks tanked. REITs collapsed. Everything connected to property values dropped thirty to forty percent in hours.”
I scroll through more emails. Each one worse than the last. My personal investment portfolio, heavily weighted in real estate because that’s what I know, decimated. The company’s stock price, already struggling, cut in half. Margin calls on leveraged positions. Credit lines frozen. Investors demanding explanations.
“Why wasn’t I informed immediately?” My voice is still too quiet. Too controlled.
“We tried, sir. Your phone was off. We couldn’t reach you. By the time the market closed Friday, the damage was done. There was nothing anyone could do.”
Two point three million dollars. Gone in an afternoon while I was at home taking care of Seraphina. While we were grieving the baby someone murdered.
I keep reading. More emails. More catastrophic news. The development project in Phoenix is underwater. The property values dropped below what we owe on the construction loans. The investors are threatening to pull out completely. The bank is demanding additional collateral we don’t have.
“How bad is it?” I ask, even though I can see exactly how bad it is. “The company. How bad?”
Jennifer hesitates. That hesitation tells me everything. “The board wants an emergency meeting. Today if possible. Several of the minority shareholders are discussing selling their positions.”
Of course they are. Rats fleeing a sinking ship.
“Who’s buying?” But I already know the answer before she says it.
“Adrian Hawthorne has made offers to three shareholders so far. Generous offers, considering the current valuation.”
Adrian. Of course. Of course it’s Adrian. Circling like a vulture, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And I handed it to him by turning off my phone for three days.
I close the laptop because looking at it anymore will make me put my fist through the screen.
“Schedule the board meeting for this afternoon. And get Richard on the phone. I need to know exact numbers. Everything. Personal and corporate.” I pause. “And Jennifer? No interruptions after that. I don’t care who it is.”
She nods and retreats, closing the door behind her with a soft click that sounds like a coffin lid.
I sink into my chair and stare at the skyline outside my window. This city I’ve spent fifteen years conquering. This view I worked my ass off to earn. All of it slipping away while I was distracted by grief and guilt and Seraphina.
Seraphina.
She’s at home right now, still recovering from the D&C. Still bleeding. Still empty where our baby used to be. And now I have to go home and tell her that on top of losing our child, I’ve lost everything else too.
There’s a knock at my door. Jennifer’s voice through the wood: “Sir, I’m sorry, but Mr. Hawthorne is here. He insists—”
The door opens before I can tell her to send him away.
Adrian walks in like he owns the place. Which, given current circumstances, he might soon. He’s dressed impeccably as always, his suit probably costing more than most people make in a month, his expression carefully arranged into something approximating concern.
“Dominic. I’m truly sorry about your losses.” He settles into the chair across from my desk without being invited. “These market corrections can be devastating when one is heavily leveraged.”
“Get out of my office.”
“I came to offer my assistance. As a partner and, dare I say, friend.”
“We’re not friends. We’re barely partners. And I don’t need your assistance.”
“Don’t you?” He crosses one leg over the other, completely at ease. “Two million dollars gone. Your company valuation cut in half. Credit lines frozen. Investors fleeing. I’d say you need all the assistance you can get.”
“How did you know the exact amount?”
His smile is thin. “I make it my business to know these things. Especially when it concerns my investments.”
“Your thirty percent doesn’t give you access to my personal finances.”
“No. But certain information becomes available when one is looking to acquire more shares. Due diligence and all that.” He pauses. “Three of your minority shareholders have accepted my offers. I’m negotiating with two more. By end of week, I’ll own forty-five percent of Ashcroft Development.”
The words land like physical blows. Forty-five percent. Nearly half my company. More than any other single shareholder including me once the losses are factored in.
“You can’t.” But even as I say it, I know he can. Know he will. “The board won’t allow—”
“The board will do what’s best for the company. And right now, that’s securing capital from a stable investor. Which I am. And you, unfortunately, are not.”
I stand because sitting makes me feel powerless. “What do you want, Adrian? Really want?”
- Writer
