Chapter 7 - The Shell Company
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Within two weeks, "Apex Holdings LLC" was legally incorporated in Delaware.
On paper, the company was managed by a faceless, high-priced corporate law firm. In reality, I pulled every single string from my office in Manhattan. With Marcus’s financial backing and my insider knowledge of the structural flaws, we approached the regional bank that held the primary notes on my father's commercial shopping center.
The bank was already incredibly nervous. My father was routinely late on his interest payments, constantly asking for extensions and blaming "supply chain issues."
Apex Holdings swooped in and offered the bank a clean, quiet exit. We bought my father’s commercial debt at a slight discount, effectively making Apex Holdings the sole owner of Adams Development's financial future.
I now owned my father’s loans. I owned the mortgage on his flagship project.
The trap was fully armed, but I needed to wait for the absolute perfect moment to trigger the explosion. While I waited for my father’s financial obligations to tighten, I turned my attention to the golden child.
Paige.
According to her obnoxious, highly curated social media profiles, Paige was currently "searching for the perfect executive marketing role" that would adequately respect her newly acquired, six-month community college certificate. She posted daily photos lounging by the pool, complaining that local companies just didn't understand her "visionary branding strategies."
She had absolutely no real-world experience, no work ethic, and an ego the size of a blimp.
It was time to give Paige exactly what she wanted: a job with massive, catastrophic responsibilities.
I reached out to a former Yale classmate who now ran a prominent, high-stress marketing agency in the city. They were currently managing an incredibly difficult, multi-million dollar ad campaign for a notoriously ruthless luxury cosmetics brand.
"I have a candidate for your open Junior Account Manager position," I told my friend over a secure phone call. "Her name is Paige Adams. Hire her. Give her enough rope to hang herself, and absolutely do not mention my name."
"Is she any good?" my friend asked skeptically.
"She is a walking disaster," I promised. "But she will confidently volunteer to manage the cosmetics campaign. Let her take the wheel."
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"You owe me a serious dinner for this, Catherine."
"I'll buy you a steak," I smiled, looking at a photo of Paige's arrogant, smiling face on my monitor.
