“What is this?” I asked.
“Information my office gathered when you asked me to look into Redwood Capital’s exposure.”
I flipped through the pages.
The numbers were bad.
Worse than bad.
They were desperate.
“They’re broke,” Martin said.
I stared at the page.
My son lived in a seven-million-dollar house and was broke.
“How long?” I asked.
“Hard to say. The pattern suggests at least eighteen months. They’ve been using appearances as collateral. Parties. Social circles. Promises. Brandon’s been telling people he controls family real estate assets.”
I looked up slowly.
“He’s been using my name?”
Martin nodded. “Your name, your old company reputation, and the house.”
A familiar coldness moved through my chest. I had felt it before in boardrooms, when a contractor lied to my face. I had felt it when a partner tried to hide missing funds. It was not anger, not exactly.
