Brianna Panella Guzman Facebook ad: “My 'Wasted' Billions Will Save My Family's Empire”

About this ad

Meta Ad Library ID

844864548654282

Platforms

Facebook, Instagram, Audience Network and Threads

Relaunches

0

How we count

Ad text

I’m the problem child of the Santoro family. In New York, if you’re talking reckless spending, my name is bound to come up. Other people buy Birkins and Warhols. I buy abandoned buildings in the South Bronx and companies deep in bankruptcy proceedings. Three years ago, my father gave me five billion dollars and told me to go play investor. Three years later, I was down to my last twenty-eight million in cash. Everyone in the family had been convinced that from the moment the five billion landed in my hands, there was only one possible outcome. Gone. Until today. The day the Santoro Group’s cash flow finally snapped. Dozens of creditors were crowding the conference room at our Manhattan headquarters. My father had sold his private jet. My brother, Matteo, had pledged all his shares as collateral. It still wasn’t enough to cover the ten-billion-dollar hole. A competitor slid a transfer agreement across the table to my father. “Dominic, sign it.” “After tonight, the Santoro Group will have no negotiating power left.” Matteo’s eyes were bloodshot. He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the table. “If you hadn’t torched that five billion, our family would never be in this position.” Every head in the room turned to look at me. I swept my gaze over the vultures who had come to collect. All familiar faces. I took out my phone and sent a message to my legal team. A second later, every phone in the room began to buzz. I pulled out the chair at the head of the table and sat down. “You’re all here for your money, aren’t you?” “Then get in line.” “I’m holding quite a bit of debt myself. Perhaps we can work out a package deal.” “Whether the Santoro Group goes bankrupt remains to be seen.” “But some of you… you look like you should be the first ones calling your bankruptcy lawyers.” … “Dominic, we need an answer today.” In the top-floor conference room of the Santoro Group, more than a dozen demand letters hit the mahogany table at once. Both sides were packed with people from banks, suppliers, and investment firms. They were all in Armani, and they all wore the same predatory expression. Today, there was only one item on the agenda. Repayment. My father, Dominic Santoro, sat at the head of the table, a vein throbbing at his temple. He hadn’t slept. It looked as if his hair had gone a shade whiter overnight. Matteo stood behind him, phone pressed to his ear, a stack of financial statements in his other hand. With every call he ended, his face grew grimmer. “Dad, the bank for the East Dock project is demanding early repayment.” “The West Side construction site has shut down, too.” “If we can’t plug the funding gap by midnight, three banks are going to court to freeze our assets.” The water glass in my father’s hand trembled, spilling onto the table. No one moved to wipe it up. A few months ago, these people would have had to book weeks in advance just to get a meeting with him. Now, the moment the Santoros showed......

Where the ad sends people

h5.reelshortnovel.com

My 'Wasted' Billions Will Save My Family's Empire