Her hair was down cascading over her shoulders in dark waves. But the biggest change was in her eyes. The difference of the service industry was gone. The predator was back.
"You look like hell," Marcus said, turning to face her. He didn't smile, but his eyes were warm. It's been a long 3 years, Marcus, Elena replied, walking over to the leather armchairs and sitting down without asking. She didn't look at the view.
She had seen it a thousand times before. "I heard about what happened at The Obsidian," Marcus said, sitting opposite her. News travels fast. Julian Thorne making a scene.
That's Tuesday. But a waitress embarrassing him on a complex LBO structure. That's news. My phone started buzzing 10 minutes ago.
He's going to buy Kensington Steel, Elena said, skipping the pleasantries. He's ignoring the EPA clause. Or rather, he's going to try to bury it. Marcus nodded slowly.
That sounds like Julian. He's overleveraged on his last two deals. If he pulls out of Kensington now, the break fees will [ __ ] his liquidity. He has to buy it.
He's betting he can bribe the zoning commission or flip the land to some unsuspecting pension fund before the soil reports go public. He's going to defraud investors, Elena said. Again? And you want to stop him?
No. Elena looked up her expression cold. I don't want to stop him. I want to let him hang himself and then I want to kick the chair.
Marcus took a sip of his drink. He studied her for a moment. He remembered when he first hired her fresh out of Wharton. She was a prodigy.
She could see patterns in the market that algorithms missed. She had made Sterling Capital billions before the stress and the toxicity of the industry broke her spirit. She had left to find real life to serve coffee and talk to normal people. But Julian Thorne had reminded her that real life was just as cruel as Wall Street, only with worse pay.
"I have a plan," Elena said. "But I need capital, and I need a cover." You have the capital, Marcus said effortlessly. Your equity share from your time here is still in the trust. You have roughly $12 million in liquid assets, Elena.
You're not poor. You were just hiding. Elena paused. She had forgotten the money.
She had ignored the statements for years, living off her tips to punish herself for a mistake she made years ago, a deal that went wrong and hurt a family business. She had been doing penance, but penance was over. "$12 million isn't enough to hurt Thorne," Elena calculated. "His fund is worth 4 billion.
"No. Marcus grinned, a shark-like expression that matched hers. "But $12 million is enough to buy the entrance ticket to the game. "What's the play?
Julian needs a bridge loan," Elena explained, her mind working at light speed. If he buys Kensington, he can't use traditional banks for the remediation costs because he's hiding the toxicity. He'll need private credit, high interest off the books financing to modernize the facility before he flips it. He'll go to the Shadow lenders, Marcus agreed.
He'll go to Vanguard Shadow, Elena corrected. Because Vanguard Shadow is the only firm aggressive enough to fund a deal that risky in 48 hours. Marcus raised an eyebrow. Vanguard Shadow doesn't exist.
It does as of tomorrow morning. Elena said, "You set up the shell. I'll front the face. We offer him the money he needs to close the Kensington deal.
We let him buy the toxic land. We let him think he's safe." And the catch, the catch is in the collateral agreement. Elena said, "We don't take the land as collateral. We take his personal stake in Thorn Dynamics and we add a material adverse change clause triggered by, let's say, an EPA investigation." Marcus whistled low.
You're going to lend him the money to buy the poison, then call the cops on the poison trigger, the default, and seize his entire company. He humiliated me for $500," Elena said, standing up and walking to the window. She looked out at the city, her reflection superimposed over the lights. "I'm going to take his company for 10 cents on the dollar." Marcus stood up and extended his hand.
Welcome back, Elena. I've missed this. The following morning, Julian Thorne was pacing in his office, his suit jacket thrown over a chair.
His office was a temple to his ego modern art floor-to-ceiling glass and a desk made of reclaimed aircraft aluminum. But the air in the room was stale with panic. The EPA report is real, Brett said, his voice shaking. He was standing by the door, afraid to come closer.
We pulled the archives this morning. That waitress. She was right. Kensington is a Superfund site waiting to happen.
I know she was right. Julian screamed, throwing a crystal paperweight across the room. It shattered against the wall. I don't pay you to tell me what a waitress knows.
I pay you to fix it. Sir, we can back out, Cole suggested timidly from the couch. We pay the break fee. It's $20 million.
We take the hit. I can't take a $20 million hit. Julian roared. The board is already breathing down my neck about the pharma acquisition.
If I show a loss this quarter, they'll trigger a vote of no confidence. I have to close this deal. I have to flip that land. But who will lend us the hundred million for the closing?
Brett asked. The banks won't touch it with the soil issues. Find me a lender, Julian barked. I don't care what the rate is.
Find me someone greedy. Find me someone who doesn't ask questions. Get me the money. I buy the land.
I bribe the inspector to delay the report for 6 months. And I sell the parcel to the pension fund in Dubai. They don't check EPA logs. The intercom buzzed.
It was his secretary, her voice trembling. Mr. Thorne, there's a there's an offer coming through on the secure fax. It's from a private equity firm called Vanguard Shadow. Julian stopped pacing.
I've never heard of them. They're new, Brett said, checking his tablet. Registered in the Caymans deep pockets. They specialize in distressed opportunities.
What's the offer? Julian demanded. They're offering $150 million, the secretary continued. Full financing for the Kensington acquisition.