The directors faced a choice. They could rush into another asset sale before the investigation finished, or they could find temporary financing that gave the company time to obtain accurate valuations and stabilize operations. Neither option was painless. Any new lender would demand safeguards. Employees were already frightened of another round of cuts.
Daniel attended the next shareholder committee session as Northstar's representative. The board's outside advisers laid out the liquidity projections. He listened to the entire presentation before speaking.
"Northstar can offer a bridge facility," he said. "But only after independent review, proper approvals, and conditions designed to protect the business rather than hand us its assets at a discount."
Leonard Price frowned. "Would your fund be acquiring additional control?"
"Not through the facility itself. We can discuss market terms and appropriate security. I don't want a rescue loan turned into a concealed takeover."
"Why should we believe that?" asked a director who had been skeptical of Daniel from the start.
Daniel nodded. "You shouldn't accept it on my word. Appoint an independent adviser, compare the terms against alternatives, and reject ours if someone offers a better deal."
Victoria studied him. Months earlier, she would have heard the answer as a polished negotiating tactic. Now she understood that the ability to be rejected was part of what made a proposal credible.
The board authorized an independent process. Two banks offered competing short-term structures. Northstar's proposal was not the cheapest in every category, but it gave Hale Meridian more flexibility to preserve the service division while the valuation and governance review continued. After negotiation, the directors selected a financing package that included outside bank participation and strict reporting requirements. Daniel recused himself from any decisions that created direct personal conflicts, and his lawyers documented the terms.
When Celia received the signed commitment letter, she called him. "You realize we've just spent weeks negotiating a loan to a company that fired you."
Daniel was sitting in the car outside Noah's school, waiting for a science club to finish. "The employees didn't fire me," he said.
"Neither did the customers who need their equipment."
"Exactly."
He could hear Celia smiling through the phone. "Your father would have liked that answer."
Daniel looked at the children emerging from the school doors. "I hope so."
A moment later Noah appeared, waving an oversized cardboard rocket and wearing a paper helmet. Daniel got out to help him keep the rocket from collapsing in the wind. The boy was explaining that his team had won a prize for the most creative landing system before Daniel had even opened the car door.
"Are you listening?" Noah demanded.
"Every word."
"Then what did we use for the landing legs?"
Daniel glanced at the rocket. "Straws?"
"Wrong. Popsicle sticks."
"I apologize to the entire engineering team."
Noah laughed so hard his paper helmet slipped over his eyes. Daniel caught it before it fell. It struck him that for all the meetings and legal notices taking place across Chicago, the question Noah cared about was whether his father remembered the landing legs. Daniel made a mental note never to confuse the size of a problem with its importance to the person asking.