Chapter 3 - Five Hundred Witnesses

By nine the next morning, Prescott Global had become a company pretending not to look at itself.

The Slack message was gone from the channel.

Screenshots were everywhere.

Nathan called before I finished coffee.

“Do not post about the deletion.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Good. Also, Prescott’s general counsel sent a preservation notice.”

“To me?”

“To everyone potentially involved.”

“Am I potentially involved in my own marriage?”

“You involved five hundred employees. Legally, yes.”

I rubbed my forehead.

“That was not my finest decision.”

“No.”

I waited.

“That’s all you’re going to say?”

“You hired me for legal advice, not emotional lying.”

I almost smiled.

“What happened at Prescott?”

“Board meeting at seven. Emergency session.”

“How do you know?”

“Three people have already called my office asking whether I represent you.”

“Who?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Nathan.”

“Claire.”

I sighed.

“Fine.”

At Prescott headquarters, Aaron was apparently having a worse morning.

Jasmine learned that from everyone except Aaron.

She stood in the glass conference room on the thirty-eighth floor while the chief legal officer, Margaret Sloan, closed the blinds.

“You understand why we have to ask,” Margaret said.

Jasmine’s face remained composed.

“Ask.”

“Have you had a sexual relationship with Aaron Prescott?”

“No.”

“Romantic?”

Jasmine hesitated.

“There was one unwanted kiss last night.”

Margaret’s pen stopped.

“Unwanted?”

“I told him to stop.”

“Did he?”

“Yes.”

“Then why did he spend the night at your apartment?”

“He was intoxicated. I refused to let him drive.”

“You have a guest room?”

“A couch.”

Margaret looked up.

“This was not the first time he stayed there.”

“No.”

“How many?”

“Three.”

“Why?”

Jasmine folded her hands.

“The first time, he was drunk after the Whitmore acquisition dinner. The second time, he said he and Claire had fought. Last night, he was in no condition to go anywhere.”

“Did you notify HR?”

“No.”

“Did you notify anyone?”

“No.”

“Why?”

“Because I made the mistake of thinking I was protecting a friend.”

Margaret closed the file.

“A friend who is also your chief executive.”

“Yes.”

“That distinction matters.”

“I understand that now.”

Across the hall, Aaron faced the board.

His mother, Evelyn Prescott, sat near the end of the table although she had retired from daily operations years earlier.

Board chair Samuel Keene did not bother with pleasantries.

“Did you have an affair with Jasmine Cole?”

“No.”

“Did you kiss her?”

Aaron looked at general counsel.

Margaret nodded once.

“Yes.”

Evelyn shut her eyes.

Samuel continued.

“Did you stay overnight at her residence?”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Three.”

A director named Victor Hale leaned forward.

“Are you out of your mind?”

Aaron’s jaw tightened.

“Probably.”

“This company employs more than four thousand people.”

“I’m aware.”

“And you created a situation where your direct report is now the subject of public gossip because you could not manage your marriage privately.”

“Leave Claire out of this.”

Samuel’s gaze sharpened.

“Your wife is not the CEO.”

Aaron said nothing.

The independent directors requested a review of expenses, reporting lines, and any preferential treatment involving Jasmine.

Aaron agreed.

He had no choice.

By noon, Jasmine’s name was trending inside private finance forums.

By one, a local business reporter emailed me.

MAYA CHEN, BOSTON LEDGER: Mrs. Prescott, would you like to comment on allegations involving Aaron Prescott and Jasmine Cole?

I forwarded it to Nathan.

His reply came immediately.

NO COMMENT. NOT ONE WORD.

Then, thirty seconds later:

And for the love of God, stay off Slack.

I was still smiling when my father walked into the dining room carrying a folder.

“You find something funny?”

“Nathan.”

“That man was obnoxious in law school.”

“You knew him in law school?”

“I donated to the building.”

“That does not count.”

He sat across from me.

“Your mother says you haven’t eaten.”

“I ate toast.”

“That is an ingredient, not a meal.”

“Dad.”

He slid the folder toward me.

“What is this?”

“Mercer Vale’s latest quarterly report. You asked years ago that I receive a duplicate as successor trustee if something happened to Nora.”

I opened it.

“I have these electronically.”

“Look at page forty-seven.”

I turned pages.

Then stopped.

Prescott Industrial Credit Facility — $85,000,000.

I read the line twice.

“What is this?”

“A private credit position.”

“Mercer Vale lent Prescott money?”

“Two years ago. Through a fund.”

My stomach tightened.

“Does Aaron know?”

“He would know the lender entity. Not your beneficial interest in Mercer Vale.”

I kept reading.

The facility was secured by warehouse assets and a covenant package tied to a logistics subsidiary.

“Why didn’t I know?”

“You did.”

“I absolutely did not.”

My father tapped the report.

“You received the report.”

“I don’t memorize every position.”

“That is different from not knowing.”

I looked at him.

“This is bad.”

“It is complicated.”

“My divorce attorney asked whether Mercer Vale had a material position involving Prescott.”

“Then tell him.”

“Dad, this looks like leverage.”

“Only if you use it.”

“I won’t.”

“Good.”

I grabbed my phone.

Nathan answered on the second ring.

“What happened?”

“How do you know something happened?”

“You never call. You text like a civilized person.”

“Mercer Vale has an eighty-five-million-dollar credit position tied to a Prescott subsidiary.”

Silence.

Then, very softly:

“Well.”

“That is not a helpful word.”

“Do you control the loan?”

“No.”

“Can you direct enforcement?”

“No.”

“Can you vote on amendments?”

“Not individually.”

“Does your trust receive income from the fund?”

“Yes.”

Another silence.

“Nathan?”

“I need the documents.”

“I’m sending them.”

“Now.”

I scanned the relevant pages.

Before I hit send, another email arrived.

This one was from Aaron.

Subject: PLEASE DON’T DO ANYTHING WITH THE LOAN.

I stopped breathing.

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He knew.

And if he knew, then someone at Prescott had just connected me to Mercer Vale.