“We look weak,” Malcolm said, pacing the drawing room. “The seizure is already on the blogs. The stock is down another four percent. They think we’re insolvent.”
“We *are* insolvent,” William snapped, pouring a drink he didn’t really want. “Cross has frozen everything.”
“Perception is reality,” Isabella interrupted. She stood by the window, watching the rain. She turned to face them, her posture perfect. “If we hide, the sharks will smell blood. We need to show them we are unbothered.”
“How?” William asked. “We can’t even buy groceries.”
“The Founders’ Gala,” Isabella announced. “It’s next week. We host it here. We invite the board, the investors, and the press. We serve vintage champagne from the cellar–Cross hasn’t seized the wine yet. We act like royalty who are simply bored by the audit.”
“It’s a lie,” Victoria noted from the doorway.
“It’s a strategy,” Isabella corrected. “We smile, we dance, and we convince the world the Croft Empire is standing tall. If we don’t, Cross wins.”