They were in adjacent holding cells by midnight. But my family wasn’t finished.

Part 3 — The Reckoning

Three days later, the Cross family walked into the glass-walled boardroom on the forty-second floor of Hartwell Capital, carrying the desperate confidence of people who still believed they could talk their way out of a corner.

They thought they’d been summoned by faceless corporate lenders to renegotiate their defaulting loans after the “unfortunate PR” of the arrests.

Vivian, out on a half-million-dollar bail, hid behind oversized sunglasses and refused to look at anyone. Daniel wore yesterday’s wrinkled suit, overcaffeinated, still clinging to the idea that his charm could erase digital evidence.

His father, Malcolm Cross — a man who’d built a hotel empire on hard dealing and was now watching it come apart — slapped his briefcase onto the mahogany table.

“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” Malcolm barked at the empty chairs across from him. “Name your price. What’s the penalty fee to restructure the debt and keep my hotels out of receivership?”