Stunt was an interesting choice of word. People often called something a stunt when they discovered the person they had dismissed had paperwork they had never bothered to read.
Dad’s voicemail came next, and unlike Vanessa, he sounded genuinely frightened.
“You froze the operating reserve? Are you insane? We have payroll, vendors, a lender review on Monday.”
Instead of calling him back, I contacted Miriam.
“Status?”
“The hotel shares are now registered to the Bennett Legacy Trust. The land title transferred at 8:39, and the reserve moved at 8:42. Your father keeps his personal assets and minority distributions.”
“And Vanessa?”
“Nothing.”
Mom had designed the trust carefully because near the end of her life, she had become increasingly concerned about Dad’s tendency to surrender good judgment whenever ambitious people pressured him. The succession clause allowed me to assume sole control after turning thirty-five if I was removed from governance without documented cause or if another beneficiary attempted to dispose of trust property improperly.
Vanessa had managed to trigger both conditions.
Three weeks earlier, I had discovered that she and Dad had signed a letter of intent to sell the Halcyon’s riverfront parking parcel to a development company owned by Vanessa’s brother. The proposed sale price was nearly eleven million dollars below an independent appraisal.
