Chapter 8 - THE DECISION THAT COULD HAVE COST HUNDREDS OF PEOPLE THEIR JOBS
The review found enough uncertainty that Bay Atlantic froze the refinance.
Not the company’s bank accounts.
Not payroll.
The pending refinancing.
Prescott Hospitality now had roughly seven weeks to create another liquidity plan before a large maturity.
Robert called an emergency family meeting.
He put a spreadsheet on the screen.
“If we cannot refinance, we may have to sell Harbor House.”
Harbor House was the first hotel he and Elaine bought together.
Gloucester waterfront.
Forty-six rooms.
The property where Lauren and I learned to swim in the tiny indoor pool while our parents worked weekends.
Selling it felt sacrilegious.
Which was exactly why Robert used it first.
“There are other assets,” I said.
“None with comparable equity.”
“Then sell Harbor House.”
Elaine gasped.
“Meredith.”
“It is a hotel.”
“It is our family history.”
“Employees need payroll more than our memories need a deed.”
Dad slammed his hand onto the table.
“Easy for you to say when your husband is worth billions.”
Ethan was not in the room.
That was deliberate.
“His money is irrelevant.”
“Of course you say that. You have somewhere to land.”
Lauren spoke quietly.
“So do you, Dad.”
Robert turned toward her.
“What?”
“Mom owns the Beacon Hill condo outright. You have personal investments. Stop acting like selling one hotel means sleeping in a shelter.”
Elaine looked personally betrayed.
Lauren looked sick but did not take it back.
Ethan offered one more time to help.
Not to Robert.
To me.
“If the company needs a market-rate bridge with independent approval, my family office can participate in a syndicate.”
I thought about it.
Then said no.
“Because of appearances?”
“Because I need to know whether Prescott Hospitality can survive without my husband turning into emergency liquidity.”
Ethan nodded.
“Okay.”
He did not ask again.
We hired a restructuring adviser.
The company had real value.
Two hotels were profitable.
The Cape Cod investment had appreciated.
The event properties generated cash.
The problem was leverage, related-party advances, and years of pretending family withdrawals were temporary.
Harbor House could be sold.
A smaller property in Providence could also be sold.
Executive distributions could be suspended.
Robert hated every option.
“You’re dismantling what I built.”
“No,” I said. “We’re figuring out what you actually built.”
Employees began hearing rumors.
One hotel manager called me directly.
“Are we closing?”
“No decision yet.”
“Should I start looking?”
That question stayed with me.
Family conflict is entertaining until someone with a mortgage wonders whether Friday’s paycheck exists.
I pushed the board to prioritize payroll and operating vendors over family repayments.
Lauren agreed.
Robert opposed suspending his own shareholder advance repayment.
He lost that vote too.
Elaine called me that night.
“Your father hasn’t slept.”
“I’m sorry.”
“You could stop this.”
“By signing the refinance?”
“Yes.”
“Without understanding the books?”
“Sometimes you trust family.”
I looked at the stain still faintly visible on the silk gown hanging in a garment bag.
“I did.”
Mom became quiet.
The independent forensic team finished its first full transaction timeline three days later.
Olivia called Lauren and me into her office.
“We understand what happened with Lark now.”
I expected another misuse of money.
What we found was worse emotionally.
May you like
Because Robert had not only moved money.
He had rewritten the story each daughter was told about the other.
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