Chapter 3 - The Freezing Accounts
The silence that followed Director Vance’s announcement was so profound that you could hear the hum of the refrigerator in the distant kitchen.
Brendan stared at me as if I were a ghost. The arrogant, self-assured corporate executive had completely vanished, replaced by a terrified man whose entire foundation had just vaporized beneath his feet.
“Cassidy…” Brendan whispered, taking a slow, stumbling step toward me, his hands raised in a pathetic, pleading gesture. “Cassidy, baby, you’re... you’re joking, right? This is just some elaborate prank for your birthday, or... or a test? You know how much I love you. We’re going to have a baby together!”
I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. I looked at him with a cold, detached pity that cut deeper than any insult he had ever hurled at me.
“Don't call me baby, Brendan,” I said, my voice cutting cleanly through the quiet room. “And don't talk about our child. You made it very clear how you view responsibilities outside of your selfish little comfort zone.”
“Listen to me!” Diane suddenly shrieked, finding her voice as panic morphed into hysterical fury. She lunged forward across the table, pointing a manicured, shaking finger at my face. “You lying little tramp! You tricked my son! You trapped him with a pregnancy and pretended to be a poor nobody just to steal our family’s legacy! I’ll have you arrested! I’ll—!”
Director Vance didn't even blink. With a subtle flick of his wrist, two security guards stepped forward, gently but firmly placing their heavy hands on Diane’s shoulders, forcing her back into her seat before she could lunge across the table.
“Madame, I advise you to watch your tone,” Director Vance warned coldly. “Insulting the Chairperson of Apex Global in the presence of law enforcement officers is a federal offense under corporate protection statutes.”
“Law enforcement?” Jessica gasped, her voice pitching up into a terrified squeak. She grabbed her phone from the glass table. “I’m calling my father. He’s a federal judge. He’ll put all of you in prison—!”
“Go ahead, Ms. Reed,” I interrupted, walking slowly around the table, my wet shoes leaving faint footprints on the Persian rug. I stopped right in front of Jessica, looking down at her with calm superiority. “Call your father. Tell him that the company holding the mortgages on his summer home in the Hamptons, his private country club memberships, and his pension fund has just recalled all outstanding lines of credit due to ethical violations.”
Jessica froze. Her phone slipped from her trembling fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud.
“How... how do you know about that?” she whispered, her eyes wide with sheer horror.
“I sign the financial audits, Jessica,” I said softly. “Did you really think a billionaire CEO wouldn't run a background check on the woman her husband was parading around downtown while she was nine weeks postpartum?”
Brendan’s phone suddenly buzzed in his breast pocket.
It buzzed again. And again. A relentless, vibrating rhythm that wouldn't stop.
With shaking hands, Brendan pulled the device out. He looked at the screen, and the last remaining color drained entirely from his face, leaving him chalk-white.
“My... my corporate card is declined,” Brendan stammered, looking up at me in absolute disbelief. “I just tried to check my checking account balance... it says zero. All accounts frozen. Asset seizure notice pending.”
“That’s Protocol 7 in motion, Mr. Morrison,” Director Vance explained calmly. “All company-issued vehicles, corporate housing, credit lines, stock options, and discretionary funds associated with your employee ID have been instantly revoked. You have forty-eight hours to vacate this estate. The deed has already been transferred back to the primary holding trust.”
Diane let out a loud, agonized wail, clutching her chest as if she were having a heart attack.
“My home!” Diane cried out, looking around the grand dining room in sheer despair. “This house has been in the Morrison family for three generations! You can’t take this away from us!”
“It was purchased using Apex Global subsidiary funds in nineteen-ninety-five, Diane,” I said, turning my back on them and walking toward the grand staircase. “And since those funds were embezzled through shell companies your husband set up before he passed away, it technically belongs to the corporation. Which means it belongs to me.”
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I paused at the bottom of the stairs, looking back over my shoulder at the three people who had spent the evening laughing at a pregnant woman shivering in dirty water.
“Pack your bags,” I said quietly. “Security will supervise your departure in the morning. Enjoy your last night in my house.”
