26. Cole
TWENTY-SIX
Cole
The elevator chimes at seven-fifteen, which means Dorian's early. He's never early unless something's wrong.
I glance up from the quarterly reports spread across my desk as he strides through my office door. No knock, no greeting. He shuts the door behind him with a deliberate click that makes my chest tighten.
"We have a problem."
"Don't tell me the chatter about my competency is back. I thought we put that to bed."
"Arguably, this is worse."
He crosses to my desk and slides a printed email across the mahogany surface. The subject line jumps out at me.
Palm Beach Post
Then I see the sender. Laurel Harrelson.
My gut tightens. “Who the hell is Laurel Harrelson? A fucking reporter?”
Dorian doesn’t answer, so I keep reading. I drop my eyes to the bolded line at the top of the email .
Request for Statement – Houston Enterprises Acquisition
My jaw locks. I skim the bullets beneath.
We are preparing an investigative feature on the use of shell companies in Florida-based hospital acquisitions, including the recent Good Samaritan restructuring.
Sources allege potential conflicts of interest involving board members and private investors.
We would like to offer Houston Enterprises an opportunity to comment on these findings prior to publication.
I stop and drop the paper as my pulse pounds through me, thumping in my ears.
"Son of a bitch."
"Somehow this got out." Dorian drops into the chair across from me, his usual polished demeanor cracked around the edges.
"How?" I demand.
"I don't know. I thought you might. The reporter knows about King's Holdings. She knows you were on the board during the acquisition discussions."
I read the email a second time, heat rising up my neck. The walls of my corner office suddenly feel smaller, like they're pressing in from all sides. Not panic, yet, anyway, but it's close.
"I don't know shit. I didn't tell anyone, if that's what you're insinuating."
"Could be anyone. Hospital staff, board members, hell, even someone in accounting who processed the paperwork. Could it have been your neighbor?"
I set the email down and lean back in my chair, forcing my breathing to stay steady. Think, Cole. Think .
"It doesn't matter at this point. We shut it down. Fast. Send our legal team after them for harassment, invasion of privacy, whatever sticks."
Dorian shakes his head. "That's exactly what we can't do. The moment we go aggressive, we confirm guilt. Right now, this is just fishing. If we lawyer up hard, it becomes a story."
"So what's your brilliant alternative? Let them publish whatever the hell they want?"
"We give them nothing. No comment, no statement, no acknowledgment. Make them work for it."
I stand and walk to the window, my hands shoved deep in my pockets. The city spreads out below me.
"There's something else." Dorian's voice cuts through my thoughts.
"What?" I yell.
"The buyer for the hospital deal has gone quiet. Meridian Healthcare was supposed to send back redlines for terms, but their lawyers haven't returned our calls."
I turn back to face him. "What are you saying?"
"I'm saying that might not be a coincidence. Word gets out about potential fraud, and deals disappear. There is no innocent until proven guilty."
The pressure behind my eyes builds. Everything I’ve built, leveraged, manipulated, and calculated is hanging by threads I can’t see or control. And somewhere in Palm Beach, Sam’s probably getting ready for work, completely unaware that the next headline might have her name in it.
Her father cornered her once. If this gets out, the entire damn world will.
The thought settles in my chest like a stone I can’t swallow. I don’t want her caught in this. Not like this.
The rooftop terrace at Meridian's corporate headquarters offers one of the best views of midtown Manhattan. On a clear day like this, you can see all the way to the Hudson. But Marcus Hoffman isn't looking at the view. He's staring at his salad like it might crawl off the plate.
“So, tell me what’s going on?” I cut into my steak, keeping my voice even.
He looks up but doesn't say anything. He isn't giving anything away. That's fine, I don't mind working for it.
“Last week, your team was eager to push the letter of intent. Now our lawyers can’t get a single call returned.”
Marcus shifts in his chair. "Just some internal restructuring. You know how these things go."
"No, I don't. Not with multi-million dollar deals on the line. Enlighten me."
He takes a sip of water, buying time. The silence stretches between us while an airplane passes too closely overhead.
"Look, Cole, nothing's changed fundamentally. We're just taking a beat to reassess the timeline."
"Reassess what, exactly? The numbers are solid. The property valuations haven't shifted. What's there to reassess?"
"Legal wants another round of due diligence."
I set down my fork. "On what?"
"Just dotting i's and crossing t's. Standard procedure."
Bullshit. Marcus has been working in healthcare acquisitions for twelve years. He knows what standard procedure looks like, and this isn't it.
"Marcus, we've known each other for what, five years? You recommended the Palm Beach property to me. You said Meridian was looking for exactly this type of investment. So cut the corporate speak and tell me why your guys are fucking dragging their feet all of a sudden."
He glances around the empty terrace, then leans forward. "Someone called our compliance office."
My blood goes cold. "What kind of someone?"
"A reporter. From Palm Beach. She's asking questions about board disclosures, conflict of interest protocols, that sort of thing."
The steak turns to cardboard in my mouth. Here we go.
"What did your compliance tell them?"
"Nothing. Standard no-comment response. But the questions were specific, Cole. This wasn't some fishing expedition. Whoever called knew about the shell company structure."
My hands want to shake. I keep them flat on the table. "And that spooked your legal team?"
"Wouldn't it spook yours? We're talking about a forty-million-dollar acquisition. If there's even a hint of impropriety, we don't want our hands on that."
"There is no impropriety."
"I'm not saying there is. But optics matter. You know that better than anyone. That's why they're pausing. They want to see if there is any 'there there' before committing to anything."
Optics. The word that kills more deals than numbers.
I reach for my phone. "I need to make some calls."
"Cole, it's probably nothing. Just some local reporter looking for a story that isn't there. Let's all just give it some time to die down."
But I'm already standing. "Thanks for lunch, Marcus. Let me know when your team finishes their reassessment."
He nods, relief flickering across his face. "Will do. "
I'm in the elevator before my next meeting was supposed to start, canceling it with a quick text to Angela.
When I walk out onto 6th and open my driver's door, I hit Dorian's contact. He answers on the first ring.
"Yeah?"
"We need to talk. Now."
"I'm about to walk into a meeting in Brooklyn. I'll come to your office when I finish up here."
"Fine."
"It will be a few hours."
I hang up without a response and stare out the window as my driver weaves through midtown traffic. My carotid is ready to burst through my neck. If it were just me, I wouldn’t give two shits. But this could hit Sam. And she doesn’t even know she’s in the blast zone.
Twenty minutes later, I’m pacing behind my desk. The Singapore call is in an hour, and I can’t cancel again. It doesn’t mean I'll be present for it. Not really.
After I somehow got through the meeting, my phone buzzes. It's Dorian.
"Are you close?"
"How was the meeting with Marcus?"
"You were right. That same reporter from Palm Beach called their compliance office asking about shell companies and conflict of interest protocols."
A pause. Then Dorian's voice drops an octave. "Shit. How specific were the questions?"
"I didn't get that, but enough to scare their legal team into full retreat mode. They know about King's Holdings. Marcus didn't say it's dead, but they want to lay low for now, not commit."
"I'm five minutes out."
The line goes dead. I toss my phone onto the desk and fall into my chair, staring at the ceiling. Three months of negotiations. Forty million dollars. All of it is circling the drain because some journalist decided to play Nancy Drew.
I know no one on the board leaked this. Kings Holdings board members sign confidentiality agreements. Plus, it wouldn't be in any of their best interests to talk.
Hospital staff wouldn't have access to the acquisition details.
This isn’t an inside job. This was someone digging and trying to find a story. She's putting out breadcrumbs and seeing if anyone bites.
My assistant's voice crackles through the intercom. "Mr. Houston? Mr. Grimes is here."
"Send him in."
Dorian bursts through the door without his usual measured entrance. His tie is loosened, sleeves rolled up. He looks like a man who just sprinted up fifteen flights of stairs.
"What exactly did Hoffman say?"
I recap the lunch conversation while Dorian drops into the chair across from me. His fingers drum against the armrest.
"The reporter knew about the shell company structure?"
"I don't think she knows anything. But I think she smells something and is trying to smoke it out."
"We need to figure out how she smells something."
I stop pacing. "Does it matter?"
"Not right now. We can deal with that once we suffocate the chatter. Right now, we need damage control."
"Fuck."
"I'm thinking we get ahead of this. Proactive interview with Forbes or the Journal. Someone business-friendly. We craft the narrative before this Palm Beach reporter does. "
My jaw clenches. "That reeks of desperation."
"It reeks of smart business. You want to let some podunk, local journalist define you? Tell the story of a crooked New York businessman screwing over a small-town hospital?"