Chapter 4 - The March Family’s Miscalculation
Arthur March did not believe in ghosts, curses, or men like Roman Calder—at least, not until thirty minutes after the incident in the service corridor.
Inside the sprawling mahogany-paneled penthouse office on the top floor of the Bellweather Hotel, Arthur paced back and forth behind his executive desk, his face red with apoplectic rage.
Selene sat sobbing on the leather sofa, her silver silk gown stained with spilled champagne, while Julian stood near the window, sweating profusely as he stared down at the streetlights below.
“Are you out of your absolute mind, Julian?!” Arthur roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. “You divorced a woman who turns out to be secretly married to Roman Calder? Do you have any idea who holds our debt?”
“Dad, stop yelling at him!” Selene sobbed, wiping her mascara. “We can destroy them! We’re the March family! We control the coastal development commission!”
The heavy oak doors of the office burst open without a knock.
Prescott strode into the room uninvited, followed by two armed security guards who immediately positioned themselves at the exits. Prescott didn't look like a lawyer; he looked like a general surveying a conquered province. He tossed a thick stack of legal documents onto Arthur’s pristine desk, scattering the fountain pens and financial reports.
“What is the meaning of this?!” Arthur demanded, stepping back.
“That,” Prescott said calmly, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses, “is the master ledger of every outstanding corporate loan, construction bond, and mortgage held by March Hospitality Group. As of 8:14 p.m. this evening, Roman Calder’s primary holding company has acquired seventy-four percent of your circulating commercial debt from the Boston Mercantile Bank.”
Arthur went completely pale. He grabbed the top document, his hands shaking violently as his eyes scanned the bold lettering. “That’s impossible... Boston Mercantile wouldn't sell those notes without board approval!”
“They had board approval,” Prescott replied smoothly. “Especially when we offered them twice the market valuation, coupled with an audit of your daughter’s private foundation funds.”
Julian staggered backward from the window. “Wait... what about my firm? My fundraising accounts are tied to March hospitality!”
Prescott turned his cold gaze toward Julian. “Your firm was audited this afternoon as well, Mr. Vale. Your embezzlement of client endowment funds to finance your personal apartment lease in Newport has been forwarded to the federal prosecutor’s office. You’ll receive an indictment by morning.”
Julian clutched his chest as if he’d been physically struck. “No... no, that’s impossible. I covered those tracks!”
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“You covered them from amateur accountants,” Prescott said with a faint, chilling smile. “Mr. Calder doesn't hire amateurs.”
Arthur slumped heavily into his leather executive chair, the fight entirely drained out of him. He looked at his daughter, then at the ruined corporate lawyer standing beside her, realizing with horrifying clarity that their arrogance had just triggered an extinction-level event for their entire dynasty.
