Chapter 4 - THE WOMAN BEHIND NORTHBRIDGE
Margaret Wexler had been my father's attorney for twenty-six years.
She had silver hair, an immaculate collection of dark suits, and a remarkable ability to make powerful men uncomfortable without raising her voice.
When I arrived at her office, she placed two cups of coffee on the table.
Then she asked me a question.
“How much do you know about Julian's latest financing?”
“Very little.”
“That's what concerns me.”
She opened a folder.
Hale Capital had been preparing a major acquisition of a regional logistics company called Westhaven Freight.
The proposed transaction was worth nearly four hundred million dollars.
Julian had described it publicly as the deal that would establish his firm among New York's most influential private investment groups.
But the financing depended on Northbridge Partners.
And Northbridge's voting control rested with my trust.
“Julian believes the investment committee has already approved the acquisition,” Margaret said.
“Has it?”
“Conditionally. Subject to final due diligence.”
I looked at her.
“What's wrong with the deal?”
She turned a page.
“Westhaven's financial statements contain discrepancies. Revenue recognized before delivery. Undisclosed related-party transactions. Equipment valuations that don't reconcile with independent appraisals.”
“Fraud?”
“Possibly. We need more evidence before drawing conclusions.”
I studied the numbers.
Then something caught my attention.
One of Westhaven's consulting companies had received nearly six million dollars in fees.
The company was called Arden Advisory.
Its registered director was Sloane Whitcomb.
I stared at the name.
Julian's mistress.
Margaret watched my expression.
“You recognize her?”
“Yes.”
I closed the folder.
“She was at the Carlyle with my husband the night I lost my baby.”
Margaret's face softened.
“Ava.”
“Don't.”
I took a breath.
“If you pity me, I'll fall apart.”
She waited.
I looked at the documents again.
“Does Northbridge know about Arden Advisory?”
“Not yet.”
“Then tell them.”
Margaret nodded.
“And Julian?”
I thought about the man who had sent flowers instead of coming to the hospital.
“Don't warn him.”
That afternoon, Northbridge initiated an enhanced review of the Westhaven transaction.
Independent auditors were appointed.
The investment committee delayed final approval.
Julian called me at six.
“Have you heard anything about Northbridge?”
I stared at his name on my phone.
“No,” I lied.
“They're suddenly asking ridiculous questions.”
“Maybe they're doing their job.”
He sighed.
“You wouldn't understand.”
I closed my eyes.
Eight years.
And he still believed that.
May you like
“Perhaps not,” I said.
Then I ended the call.
