Chapter 2 - THE ALDCOTTS WANTED MORE THAN A CATERING CONTRACT
Diane did not confront Evan in the kitchen.
Not immediately.
People imagine rich families scream differently.
They do not.
They simply learn younger that witnesses are expensive.
Diane waited until midnight.
The last senator left.
The florist began dismantling arrangements.
Caterers stacked crates near the service entrance.
Beatriz Reyes supervised cleanup wearing black slacks and white sneakers she changed into after dinner service.
She was forty-three and looked older when tired.
Tonight she looked exhausted.
Diane approached.
“Beatriz.”
Beatriz smiled automatically.
“Wonderful turnout.”
“Office. Please.”
The smile disappeared.
“Did something happen?”
“Yes.”
Beatriz glanced toward Imogen.
Her daughter was wrapping serving trays.
“Did she—”
“Your daughter behaved better than most adults in this house.”
That answer only made Beatriz more nervous.
Grant was already in the library.
Evan too.
Diane closed the door.
“Sit.”
Beatriz remained standing.
“I’d rather not.”
“Fine.”
Diane put the unpaid invoices on the desk.
Beatriz looked at them.
Then at Evan.
“I told you I wouldn’t discuss this here.”
Diane turned.
“You’ve discussed this with my son?”
“Several times.”
“How many?”
“Since October.”
“What transaction?”
Beatriz’s face tightened.
Evan answered.
“A hospitality consolidation.”
Diane looked at him.
“Speak like a person.”
Evan sighed.
“Allison’s company wants to acquire Reyes Catering.”
Allison was Evan’s wife.
She had spent ten years building Aldcott Hospitality Collective, a management company overseeing event spaces, private clubs, and food-service contracts at properties connected to the Aldcott portfolio.
Diane had assumed Allison built it independently.
Apparently her son considered starving a supplier part of the growth strategy.
“How much?”
Beatriz said nothing.
Evan said, “One seventy-five.”
Diane stared.
“Thousand?”
“Yes.”
“For what percentage?”
“Sixty.”
Diane laughed.
Beatriz did not.
“How much revenue did Reyes do last year?”
“Two-point-four million,” Beatriz said.
“What’s your debt?”
“About three hundred thousand.”
“Equipment?”
“Owned except two vans.”
“Client book?”
“Strong.”
Diane turned toward Evan.
“One hundred seventy-five thousand for sixty percent.”
“It’s distressed.”
“Because you are not paying it.”
“It was already distressed.”
Beatriz’s face hardened.
“Not like this.”
Evan looked at her.
“You were undercapitalized before we made an offer.”
“You held ninety-five thousand dollars after you made it.”
“To preserve negotiating position.”
Grant said quietly, “Evan.”
“What?”
“You make it sound worse every time you explain it.”
Diane looked at her husband.
“You knew.”
Grant rubbed the bridge of his nose.
“I knew Allison had interest.”
“Did you know invoices were being held?”
“No.”
Evan looked at his father.
Grant did not look back.
Diane turned to Beatriz.
“The rent?”
Beatriz folded her arms.
“Forty-two percent increase.”
“Who delivered it?”
“Aldcott Property Services.”
“When?”
“Three days after I declined Allison’s first offer.”
Evan said, “Market rent review was scheduled.”
Beatriz laughed.
“Of course it was.”
Diane looked at her son.
“Did you order the increase?”
“No.”
“Did you know?”
“Yes.”
“Did you stop it?”
“No.”
“Then stop hiding behind verbs.”
Silence.
Beatriz finally sat.
“I don’t want a family war.”
Diane said, “You’re already in one.”
“No.”
Beatriz shook her head.
“I have employees. Twenty-four regular people. During December, nearly sixty with seasonal staff.”
Her voice tightened.
“I can’t become the story about rich people fighting.”
Evan said, “Then take the offer.”
Diane turned so quickly even Grant moved.
“You will not threaten her in my house.”
“I am telling her the rational option.”
“No.”
Beatriz stood again.
“This is why I didn’t want Imogen working tonight.”
Diane looked at her.
“You knew she told me?”
“I know my daughter.”
“She said only that you were in trouble.”
“That’s enough.”
“Beatriz, why didn’t you call me?”
Beatriz looked at her for a long moment.
“Because your name is on the checks.”
That shut Diane up.
Evan picked up the sale proposal.
“Reyes gets capital. Allison professionalizes the operation. Beatriz keeps salary and forty percent. Employees stay.”
“Then why include all historical company records?” Diane asked.
Evan’s hand stopped.
“What?”
She had noticed the schedule attached to the acquisition agreement.
Transferred assets included equipment.
Recipes.
Client contacts.
Trade names.
Booking software.
Vendor contracts.
And:
All historical business records, archived paper files, inherited corporate documents, predecessor records, and miscellaneous storage contents.
Diane looked at Beatriz.
“Why does a hospitality company care about old paper?”
Beatriz’s eyes shifted toward Grant.
There it was again.
An answer before words.
Grant stood.
“Diane.”
“No.”
She turned toward her husband.
“What is in those records?”
“Nothing relevant.”
“Then why do you look terrified?”
“I do not.”
“You have been married to me thirty-seven years. Your left thumb moves when you lie.”
Grant looked down.
His thumb was rubbing the edge of his wedding ring.
Evan said, “This is ridiculous.”
Diane turned to Beatriz.
“What records?”
Beatriz looked tired.
“I don’t know.”
“You must know something.”
“My husband kept boxes.”
Diane stopped.
Mateo Reyes.
Beatriz’s late husband.
Imogen’s father.
Diane had not heard his name spoken in years.
“What boxes?”
“Old project files.”
Grant said, “Beatriz.”
She looked at him.
“I am tired, Grant.”
Evan frowned.
“Dad?”
Beatriz ignored him.
“Mateo worked for Aldcott before we started catering full-time.”
Diane knew that vaguely.
Accounting.
Construction administration.
Something around one of Grant’s early developments.
“How long?”
“Seven years.”
“What project?”
Beatriz looked directly at Grant.
“Harbor Foundry.”
The room went silent.
Harbor Foundry was the project that made the Aldcotts wealthy.
An abandoned industrial complex in Stamford converted into offices and apartments during the recession.
The property was now worth hundreds of millions.
Diane looked at her husband.
“Mateo worked on Harbor Foundry?”
Grant answered quietly.
“He helped save it.”
Beatriz reached for her coat.
“I’m leaving.”
Diane said, “What is in the boxes?”
“I told you. I don’t know.”
“Where are they?”
Beatriz stopped.
“Storage.”
“Where?”
“A unit beside my commissary.”
Evan’s expression changed.
Barely.
Diane saw it.
So did Beatriz.
Her face went white.
“What?”
Evan said, “Nothing.”
Beatriz took out her phone.
She called someone.
No answer.
Then another number.
“Mr. Cho? It’s Beatriz Reyes. Did anyone access my unit today?”
She listened.
Her face drained.
“When?”
Another pause.
“Who?”
She stared at Evan.
Then ended the call.
Diane asked, “What happened?”
Beatriz’s voice shook.
“My storage unit was opened yesterday.”
“By whom?”
“Property management.”
Evan said, “Probably inspection.”
“Without me?”
“Fire compliance.”
Beatriz looked at him.
“Nothing in that unit has a sprinkler.”
Silence.
“What did they take?” Diane asked.
Beatriz swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
May you like
Then her eyes filled.
“But Mateo’s red binder was in there.”
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