“What is this?”
“Information my office gathered when you asked me to look into Cedarline’s exposure.”
I flipped through the pages. The numbers were bad. Worse than bad. Desperate.
“They’re broke,” Howard said.
My son lived in a seven-million-dollar house and was broke.
“How long?”
“At least eighteen
months. They’ve been using appearances as collateral. Parties. Social circles. Promises. Trevor has been telling people he controls family real estate assets.”
I looked up slowly. “He’s been using my name?”
“Your name, your company’s reputation, and the house.”
A familiar coldness moved through my chest. I had felt it in boardrooms when a contractor lied to my face. It wasn’t anger, not exactly. It was clarity.
“What did he borrow?”
“We don’t know everything yet.” Howard tapped the last page. “But this one concerns me.”
A promissory note. Two
million dollars. Borrower: Trevor Sutter. Due date: Friday. Lender: Kessler Private Group.
