Chapter 8 - The Visitor on the Porch
I walked cautiously to the front door, peering through the peephole.
Standing on our welcome mat in the dim amber light was a tall, impeccably dressed man in a charcoal suit. He wasn't yelling, and he didn't look like a process server. It was Harrison Cole.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open six inches, keeping the security chain latched.
“Mr. Cole,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “It’s past midnight. You must have missed the memo about keeping banker’s hours.”
Harrison offered a tired, wry smile, holding up an empty leather briefcase to show he came in peace.
“Good evening, Clara,” he said softly. “Arthur called me from his car five minutes ago. He gave me strict instructions to ensure you and Maya are legally insulated before the financial markets open tomorrow morning.”
I unlatched the chain and let him in.
Harrison sat down at our small laminate kitchen table, accepting a mug of black coffee with a grateful nod. He looked around the cramped apartment with the professional eye of a man assessing a tactical advantage rather than the disdain my family usually showed.
“Word travels fast in Newport and Boston,” Harrison began, opening his leather briefcase and pulling out a certified copy of the original 1952 charter. “By 8:00 a.m., Julian Sterling is going to try to freeze the company accounts and file an injunction claiming the stock transfer is invalid.”
“And what do we do?” I asked, sitting across from him.
May you like
“We preempt them,” Harrison smiled sharply. “Arthur has already executed an irrevocable emergency transfer of his personal voting bloc to an independent escrow trust—with you as the primary trustee on behalf of Maya. Legally, the moment the stock market opens tomorrow, you hold fifty-one percent voting control of Sterling Enterprises.”
---
