Chapter 2 - The Morning After
Sunday morning broke cold and grey, with a persistent drizzle tapping against the penthouse windows.
While most of the wedding guests were likely waking up with hangovers in various luxury hotels across the city, wondering how to polite-talk their way out of discussing the disaster at the Whitfield estate, the legal machinery I had set in motion was already grinding adversaries into dust.
At 7:45 AM, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
It was Arthur Miller.
“Ray, you’re going to want to hear this,” Arthur said, his voice brimming with grim satisfaction. “We executed the asset freeze on Trevor’s personal and business accounts at 7:00 AM. Half an hour later, his corporate credit cards were declined at the Four Seasons downtown where he and Madison were staying for their wedding night.”
“What happened?” I asked, leaning back against the pillows.
“According to the front desk manager—who happens to owe us a favor—Trevor marched down to the lobby in his bathrobe demanding to speak to the general manager because his Amex black card was rejected. When he was told his accounts had been frozen by Vantage Capital, he threw a tantrum right in front of arriving guests.”
A faint smile touched the corner of my mouth. “I can picture it vividly.”
“It gets better,” Arthur continued. “At 8:00 AM sharp, our legal couriers delivered notice of default and lease termination to Paul Prescott’s main office regarding the downtown retail development. We recalled the thirty-million-dollar construction loan facility. Paul’s chief financial officer called my office twenty minutes ago screaming that the company’s cash flow is entirely dependent on that credit line to make payroll on Friday.”
“Let him scream,” I said calmly. “Paul Prescott thought he was marrying into an endless fountain of Vance money. It’s time he learned where that water actually comes from.”
“What about Trevor? Is he trying to reach you?”
“My phone has been ringing off the hook since seven o’clock. I haven't answered a single call.”
“Keep it that way,” Arthur advised. “Once you engage with them emotionally, they’ll try to manipulate you. Let the court filings and the frozen bank accounts do the talking.”
After ending the call with Arthur, I got out of bed, showered, and ordered room service for Catherine and me. She was still sleeping peacefully, her breathing steady and deep. The emotional shock of the previous day had taken a heavy toll, but the physical injuries were minor.
Around 9:30 AM, my daughter Jennifer arrived at the penthouse suite.
She let herself in using the electronic keycard I had texted her earlier. She was wearing jeans and a black trench coat, her hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her eyes were bright with a fierce, vindictive energy that reminded me entirely too much of myself when I was younger.
“Mom still asleep?” she asked, setting a pastry box on the coffee table.
“Yes. Let her rest,” I replied, pouring myself a cup of black coffee. “Did you hear what happened this morning?”
Jennifer smirked, sitting down on the sofa. “Dad, half the city’s business community is buzzing. Word travels fast when a thirty-million-dollar loan gets yanked before breakfast. Paul Prescott reportedly spilled coffee all over his white shirt when his CFO called him with the news.”
“And your brother?”
Jennifer’s expression hardened. “Trevor tried to call me six times before eight o'clock. When I finally picked up, he was practically crying. He wanted to know why his credit cards were declined and why his bank account balance was showing zero. He actually had the nerve to ask if I could spot him five thousand dollars to pay for his hotel bill.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“I told him to ask Madison’s daddy,” Jennifer said sharply. “Then I hung up and blocked his number.”
I nodded with approval. “Good girl. You shouldn't have to carry his dead weight.”
“Dad, what’s the endgame here?” Jennifer asked, leaning forward, her eyes searching mine. “Are you just trying to scare him, or are you cutting him off permanently?”
“Trevor is thirty-five years old, Jen,” I said quietly. “He has never held a job that wasn't created for him by my connections. He has never paid a mortgage, bought a car with his own sweat, or faced a single consequence for his actions. Madison is a gold-digger who smelled an inheritance and reeled him in. If I just scare him, he’ll wait me out. I am cutting him off permanently. His trust fund is being dissolved. His company is being liquidated. He is going to experience what it means to be entirely ordinary.”
May you like
Jennifer was silent for a moment, absorbing the magnitude of my decision. Then, slowly, a small, vindictive smile spread across her face.
“Good,” she said. “He earned every bit of it.”
