Three minutes later, her tone changed.
The booklet claimed Northstar had agreed to become the anchor investor in a luxury senior-living development my father had been trying to finance outside Boston.
It described a “minimum two-million-dollar commitment.”
It also included language suggesting I had personally approved the partnership.
I had never seen the project.
I had never signed anything.
Olivia called again.
“They’re asking questions,” she whispered. “Dad told everyone you were coming later to make an announcement.”
“He told me not to come.”
“I know.”
“Did you know about the booklet?”
Silence.
Then she said, “I knew he was using your company name. I thought you had agreed.”
That hurt more than I expected.
Dad finally called from his own phone.
“Hannah, listen to me. Nothing has closed yet. You can fix this by showing up, shaking a few hands, and saying we’re discussing an investment.”
“We aren’t.”
