Chapter 6 - The Newport Ghost TownOctober 18 arrived with a howling, bitter autumn wind sweeping across the rocky coast of Newport, Rhode Island.
The grand oceanfront estate that Savannah had spent six months booking and decorating stood draped in white silk, floral arches of expensive orchids, and rows of empty gold chiavari chairs facing the crashing waves below.
A forty-piece orchestra sat huddled beneath a heated tent, waiting for guests who would never arrive.
Because by six o'clock that evening, the news of Grant Sterling’s complete corporate collapse, bankruptcy, and pending federal investigation for pension fraud had hit every major news outlet in New York and New England.
Not a single high-society guest showed up. The caterers were packing up their untouched trays of caviar, the florists were loading their trucks, and the venue manager was standing near the entrance holding an unpaid invoice for eighty thousand dollars.
Inside the bridal suite overlooking the ocean, Savannah sat in her elaborate, multi-thousand-dollar lace wedding gown, her five-month pregnant belly resting against her lap. Her makeup was ruined, black streaks of mascara cutting down her pale, hollow cheeks.
Grant sat on the edge of the bed in his tuxedo, staring blankly at his phone.
His phone screen displayed three simple notifications:
Bank of America: Your personal credit line has been closed.
Sterling Holdings Board: Formal termination of employment executed.
New York District Attorney: Subpoena served regarding pension fund wire transfers.
The door to the bridal suite pushed open, and the venue manager stepped inside, holding a clipboard, his face grim.
“Mr. Sterling,” the manager said coldly. “The credit card you provided for the remaining venue balance has been declined. If the eighty thousand dollars isn't settled within thirty minutes, I am calling the police for theft of services.”
Savannah let out a loud, hysterical wail, throwing her diamond ring onto the hardwood floor. “I hate you! I hate you, Grant! You lied to me! You told me you were a billionaire! You told me I was going to be the queen of New York!”
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Grant didn't even pick up the diamond ring. He looked at the sparkling stone lying on the floor—the stone bought with stolen money, the stone that had cost him his company, his reputation, his freedom, and his soul.
He covered his face with his trembling, empty hands, and wept into the cold, silent evening.
