Chapter 5: The Lockout
On Monday morning, Julian didn't wait fourteen days.
Desperate to pull cash from his company's emergency reserves before the trust seizure took effect, he raced to the Vance-Sterling Media headquarters downtown at 7:00 AM.
I was already waiting for him in the executive suite on the twelfth floor.
When Julian stepped off the elevator, his hair was disheveled, his tie was undone, and his eyes were bloodshot from a weekend of sleepless panic. He marched toward his corner office, only to find his security badge flashing a solid red light against the keypad.
Access Denied.
"What the hell is wrong with this reader?!" he shouted, slamming his shoulder against the frosted glass door.
"The reader works fine, Julian," a voice said.
Julian spun around.
I was sitting at the head of the polished glass board table in the main conference room, sipping a cup of black coffee. Standing beside me was Marcus Vance—his company's Chief Financial Officer—and two uniformed building security officers.
"Marcus!" Julian barked, marching toward the conference room. "Tell security to override my door! And get the Singapore investors on the phone right now—we need a short-term bridge loan!"
Marcus didn't move an inch. He looked at Julian with cold, professional pity.
"Julian," Marcus said quietly. "You don't have signature authority here anymore."
"I am the CEO!" Julian roared.
"You were the CEO," I corrected, standing up and smoothing the skirt of my suit. "At 6:30 this morning, the board of directors held an emergency executive session. Once Marcus presented the trust's loan default notice—and the tax embezzlement proof Evelyn left behind—they voted unanimously to remove you for cause."
Julian stumbled backward, grabbing the back of a leather chair to keep from falling. "No... you can't do this... I built this company..."
"You built an illusion on your mother's money while I changed her bedsheets and held her hand," I replied, walking toward him until I was just three feet away. "Your corporate credit cards are deactivated. Your company car has been repossessed from the garage downstairs. And the suburban house?"
May you like
Julian looked up at me, his lips trembling.
"I've already listed it for sale," I whispered. "You have until Friday to get your designer suits out of the master closet, Julian. After that, anything left behind goes to the Salvation Army."
