Chapter 4 - The Protocol of Total Ruin“Protocol Omega?” Grant shrieked from his kneeling position on the floor, his face twisted in horror. “Mr. Vance, you can’t! That means total asset liquidation! That means federal audits, corporate dissolution, criminal investigations! You’ll destroy Whitaker Holdings!”
Arthur looked down at Grant with absolute contempt.
“Whitaker Holdings was built on a line of credit I personally approved five years ago as a wedding gift to my granddaughter—a gift she begged me to keep secret so you could feel like a self-made man,” Arthur said coldly. “A gift I am now revoking effective four seconds ago.”
As if on cue, every single smartphone in the ballroom began to buzz, chime, and ring simultaneously.
Over three hundred executives, investors, board members, and socialites pulled out their phones.
Grant’s corporate partners pulled up their banking apps, only to stare in sheer horror at their screens.
“My God…” whispered Richard Sterling, senior vice president of Whitaker Holdings, his face turning the color of skim milk. “All company accounts have been frozen. The corporate lines of credit are gone. Federal marshals are currently seizing the company servers downtown.”
“Mine too!” shouted another board member, dropping his phone as if it were a venomous snake. “My personal stock portfolio linked to Whitaker entities has just been wiped out under SEC emergency freeze orders!”
Vanessa’s phone buzzed aggressively in her clutch. She snatched it out, her manicured fingers trembling so violently she dropped it twice before unlocking the screen.
TEXT NOTIFICATION: Your corporate credit card ending in 8832 has been permanently declined. Insufficient funds. Balance: $0.00.
TEXT NOTIFICATION: Your luxury penthouse lease at Columbus Circle has been terminated by the landlord. Eviction notice effective immediately.
Vanessa let out a strangled gasp, her eyes rolling back slightly as panic threatened to make her faint right there on the floor.
“No… no, this isn’t real,” Vanessa muttered, grabbing Grant’s arm as he knelt on the floor like a broken man. “Grant! Do something! Tell them you’re a billionaire! Tell them your company is worth millions!”
Grant didn't answer. He couldn't. He stared blankly at the floor, finally realizing the staggering, irreversible magnitude of his own stupidity.
He had held a golden goose in his hands, fed it garbage, kicked it out of the nest, and allowed his mistress to abuse its chick. And now, the empire that had fed his ego had vanished into thin air.
I shifted Maisie comfortably in my arms, stepping past the sobbing wreckage of my marriage. I looked down at Grant—the man who had demanded I apologize to his mistress just an hour ago.
“You told me I had no career, no savings, and nowhere to go,” I said quietly, my voice carrying clearly across the silent ballroom. “You were right about one thing, Grant. I don't have a savings account. Because people like us don't have savings accounts.”
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I paused, letting the words sink into his hollow skull.
“We own the banks.”
