Chapter 13 - THE INVESTOR ROOM
The investor meeting took place at the Halcyon Hotel.
Private conference floor.
No press.
No cameras.
At least officially.
Catherine stood at the front of the room when I entered.
Her expression was worth the drive.
“Maya.”
“Catherine.”
Around thirty investors looked between us.
I recognized twelve.
Three were Vance shareholders.
Two had already called me that morning asking me not to attend.
I attended anyway.
Catherine’s presentation was titled:
UNLOCKING VALUE IN UNDERPERFORMING RESIDENTIAL ASSETS.
Subtle.
She recovered quickly.
“Since Ms. Vance has joined us, perhaps we can make this conversation more useful.”
“I agree.”
I sat in the front row.
For forty minutes, Catherine delivered a polished argument.
Vance Global had strong assets but conservative leadership.
Transit corridors represented enormous value.
Legacy residential properties were underdeveloped.
Oakridge was her central example.
She showed the same renderings Brenda had given us.
Hotel.
Retail.
Townhouses.
Beautiful.
Profitable.
Impressive.
And built on the assumption that the current residents disappeared.
Then she moved to leadership.
“Maya Vance has built a respected company.”
Polite beginning.
Always dangerous.
“But founders sometimes become emotionally attached to assets.”
There it was.
A few investors nodded.
“Refusing to evolve can destroy value.”
She displayed a valuation.
Oakridge under current use: $38 million.
Redeveloped: $71 million.
Even higher than our estimate.
Then I noticed something.
Her slide listed acquisition cost:
$26.4 million.
The number was from our confidential internal range.
A range Martin admitted sharing.
Catherine continued.
“Meridian proposed a transaction that could have unlocked significant—”
“Can we stop there?”
She looked at me.
“This isn’t your presentation.”
“No.”
I stood.
“But that is my confidential valuation data.”
The room changed.
Catherine smiled.
“We use independent analysis.”
“Then your independent analysis somehow produced the exact confidential threshold contained in a Vance internal disposition memorandum.”
Silence.
One investor leaned forward.
Catherine remained calm.
“That’s a serious allegation.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have evidence?”
I nodded toward Elena.
She distributed packets.
Not everything.
Enough.
Email from Martin.
Valuation watermark.
Meridian loan documents.
Draft option agreement.
Related-party vendor transactions.
Resident testimony summaries.
Catherine’s smile disappeared.
I stepped toward the screen.
“You’re correct about one thing.”
“What?”
“Oakridge is valuable.”
I clicked my own remote.
The screen changed.
Photographs of residents appeared.
Margaret.
Daniel.
Rebecca.
Children playing near the fountain.
Not sentimental manipulation.
Context.
“These are not obstacles on a land map.”
Catherine folded her arms.
“Investors are here to discuss returns.”
“So am I.”
The screen changed again.
Updated valuation model.
“With transit approval and phased redevelopment limited to the vacant six-acre parcel behind Hawthorne Court, Vance can generate significant value without displacing existing tenants.”
Anthony had built the model overnight.
Apartment units on unused land.
Retail frontage near the future transit stop.
Preserve existing homes.
Renovate gradually.
Higher long-term value.
Lower legal risk.
Better public outcome.
Several investors leaned forward.
Catherine stared at the numbers.
“You built this in one night.”
“Anthony did.”
From the back, Anthony lifted his coffee.
I continued.
“The point is simple.”
I looked around the room.
“Catherine presented a false choice.”
“Sell everything or waste value.”
“But there is a third option.”
“Improve what already exists.”
“Build where land is vacant.”
“And treat residents as stakeholders rather than inconveniences.”
Catherine interrupted.
“Very inspiring.”
“Thank you.”
“But it does not change the failures at Oakridge.”
“No.”
That surprised her.
“I’m not hiding those.”
I turned to the investors.
“My company failed to detect unauthorized HOA practices quickly enough.”
A pause.
“That happened under my leadership.”
No excuses.
“Which is why we are changing oversight, refunding improper charges, and commissioning an independent review.”
I looked back at Catherine.
“What we will not do is let someone manufacture problems and then cite those problems as evidence that she deserves the asset.”
The room went completely quiet.
Catherine stared at me.
“You should be careful.”
“Why?”
“Because none of those documents prove I instructed anyone to break rules.”
“Maybe not.”
I stepped closer.
“But they prove you financed the company trying to acquire Oakridge while your presentation uses confidential Vance information obtained through an employee who expected equity after the sale.”
One of the investors stood.
“Catherine, is that accurate?”
She didn’t answer directly.
“Meridian’s counsel will address any concerns.”
Not good enough.
People started whispering.
The meeting was over.
Not formally.
But strategically.
Catherine knew it too.
As investors began leaving, she approached me.
“You think this is victory?”
“No.”
“You’ve embarrassed me.”
“That wasn’t the goal.”
“You always say that after you get exactly what you want.”
I looked at her.
“What do I want, Catherine?”
“To prove you were right nine years ago.”
There it was.
The old wound.
Our first company.
The deal we had refused.
The argument.
The split.
I shook my head.
“This isn’t about graduate school.”
“It always was for you.”
“No.”
I lowered my voice.
“For you, maybe.”
She stared at me.
Then said something unexpected.
“You stole Vance from me.”
I froze.
“What?”
“We built the model together.”
“Our first company failed.”
“You took the strategy.”
“I took my own work.”
“You took our investor contacts.”
“They called me.”
“You became Maya Vance.”
“I was already Maya Vance.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
Success rewrites old friendships in strange ways.
Catherine had spent nine years believing my growth belonged partly to her.
Maybe some of it did.
Ideas overlap.
People influence each other.
But nothing justified this.
“You could have called me.”
She laughed.
“And said what?”
“Anything.”
“You wouldn’t have listened.”
“Maybe.”
“That’s the problem.”
“No, Catherine.”
I looked at her.
“The problem is you decided manipulation was easier than conversation.”
Her expression hardened.
“Be careful what your investigators find.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s advice.”
She walked away.
Elena approached.
“What did that mean?”
“I don’t know.”
My phone buzzed.
A message from Marcus.
WE FOUND SOMETHING UNDER RICHARD’S GARAGE FLOOR.
I stared at the screen.
Elena read over my shoulder.
“What?”
I typed back.
WHAT?
The response came:
May you like
A SAFE.
AND YOUR NAME IS WRITTEN ON THE ENVELOPE INSIDE.
