Chapter 2 - Stranded in the RainThe autumn rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time Brandon, Adelaide, and Courtney burst through the heavy glass doors of Le Cirque onto the brightly lit Manhattan sidewalk.
The wind whipped rain sideways, soaking Courtney’s designer dress and ruining Adelaide’s carefully coiffed hair in seconds.
“My shoes! My Louboutins!” Courtney shrieked, clutching her handbag over her head as if it could protect her from the deluge. “Brandon, why are we standing out here like common vagrants?! Where is the valet with the SUV?!”
Brandon didn't answer. He was frantically swiping at his phone screen, trying to call Mr. Henderson back, only to be met by a pre-recorded carrier message stating that the number was no longer accepting incoming calls from his device.
“Brandon! Do something!” Adelaide demanded, her aristocratic composure completely shattering as water dripped from the tip of her nose onto her silk blouse. “Why hasn't the valet brought the car around? It’s a hundred-thousand-dollar vehicle! They know who we are!”
Just then, a young valet in a dripping wet uniform jogged up to them, holding a key fob and looking deeply apologetic.
“Mr. Miller? I’m sorry, sir, but your vehicle... it won't start.”
“What do you mean it won't start?!” Brandon roared, grabbing the valet by the lapel of his jacket. “I just bought that car three months ago! It has a V8 twin-turbo engine! Put the key in and turn it over!”
“Sir, I tried!” the valet stammered, pulling back in alarm. “All the dashboard lights flashed red, a security lockout message came up on the central console saying ‘Engine Disabled by Administrator,’ and now the electronic ignition won't even engage. We can’t even push it out of the lane because the electronic parking brake is locked!”
Courtney let out a high-pitched gasp. “A lockout? How is that possible? Is it a glitch?”
“It’s not a glitch,” Brandon muttered, a cold sweat mixing with the rainwater streaming down his forehead. He remembered Mr. Henderson’s words: The SUV has been remotely disabled via satellite telemetry.
Elena.
She had done this. The quiet, compliant wife he had abandoned in a hospital bed seven hours after giving birth had just cut off their oxygen supply in the middle of New York City.
“We need to take a cab,” Brandon said, his voice tight with panic. He raised his arm, waving frantically at a passing yellow taxi splashing through the flooded street.
The taxi slowed down, its roof light glowing yellow, and pulled up to the curb. Brandon practically threw himself and his family into the back seat, slamming the door shut.
“Take us to the Regency Hotel on Park Avenue,” Brandon panted, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Quickly.”
The driver nodded, pulled away from the curb, and navigated through the heavy theater district traffic. For fifteen minutes, the back seat was dead silent save for Courtney’s soft sobbing over her ruined dress and Adelaide’s furious muttering about incompetence.
When the cab pulled up under the grand canopy of the Regency Hotel, the meter read eighty-four dollars.
Brandon reached into his pocket with supreme confidence, pulled out his platinum card, and handed it to the driver through the partition slot.
“Put it on this,” Brandon said tersely.
The driver slid the card into the wireless terminal on the dash.
BEEP.
A red light flashed on the reader.
Card Declined.
“Try it again,” Brandon said, his heart hammering against his ribs. “It’s a black card. Run it as credit.”
The driver swiped it manually.
BEEP. DECLINED - ISSUER RESTRICTION.
“Sir,” the driver said, turning around with a suspicious scowl. “Your card is dead. Do you have cash?”
Brandon checked his pockets. A few crumpled single-dollar bills and some loose change. He looked at Adelaide. She opened her designer clutch with trembling fingers and dumped out a collection of lipstick tubes, compact mirrors, and expired gift cards. No cash. He looked at Courtney. She shook her head frantically, tears ruining her mascara.
“Listen to me,” Brandon stammered, leaning forward toward the partition. “I am Brandon Miller, CEO of Miller Enterprises! I’m staying in the presidential suite—well, my company accounts are being audited right now—just let me go inside and I’ll have my assistant wire you—”
“I don't care who you are, pal,” the driver interrupted harshly, reaching back to lock the rear doors from his master console. “Pay your fare or I’m driving straight to the nearest precinct.”
May you like
Humiliation—hot, sharp, and absolute—flooded Brandon’s chest.
In front of his mother. In front of his sister. Sitting in a taxicab in the pouring rain, unable to pay an eighty-four-dollar fare because his wife had turned off his entire financial existence with the touch of a button.
