Chapter 6 - Frozen Assets
By Wednesday afternoon, Eleanor’s emergency filing hit the court system like a sledgehammer.
A Cook County judge reviewed the police report, the medical documentation of my injuries, and the bank statements proving the unauthorized transfer of funds from my joint account to Mercer Renovations LLC.
The judge signed an immediate ex-parte order freezing every bank account associated with Mercer Renovations LLC, Frank Mercer, and Ryan Mercer.
I was sitting in Eleanor’s high-rise office downtown when the news came through.
“It’s done,” Eleanor said, looking up from her laptop with a rare, satisfying smile. “All three of their primary accounts are locked solid. They can’t withdraw a single dollar, write a check, or transfer funds until the preliminary hearing.”
“What does that mean for Frank’s business?” I asked.
“It means he’s completely paralyzed,” Eleanor explained. “I just spoke with one of his sub-contractors who filed a lien against Frank last month. Frank was supposed to pay a fifteen-thousand-dollar payroll check to his crew tomorrow morning. With his accounts frozen, those checks will bounce. His workers will walk off the job site by noon.”
Right on cue, my phone began vibrating frantically on the conference table.
It was Ryan. Then Diane. Then an unknown number that I knew belonged to Frank’s business line.
I didn’t answer any of them.
Half an hour later, Eleanor’s receptionist tapped on the glass door. “Ms. Vance, there’s a man named Frank Mercer downstairs in the lobby. He’s demanding to come up, and security is holding him at the elevators.”
Eleanor picked up her desk phone without batting an eye. “Tell security that if Mr. Mercer steps foot past the turnstiles, they are to call the police immediately for trespassing and a violation of the temporary protection order.”
She hung up and looked at me. “Want to take a look?”
We walked over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the building’s grand marble lobby twenty stories below.
Even from high above, I could see Frank standing near the security desk. He was wearing his heavy work jacket, gesturing wildly with his big hands, his face visibly flushed with rage as three uniformed security guards blocked his path to the elevators.
Ryan stood a few feet behind him, frantically waving his arms, trying to pull his father back toward the street doors before the police arrived.
Frank smashed his fist down on the security counter, pointing up toward the ceiling, shouting words we couldn't hear through the thick glass. But his power was gone. He wasn't in his cramped condo where he could corner a terrified girl and use his physical size to intimidate her. He was in a corporate skyscraper in downtown Chicago, surrounded by security guards, legal walls, and the cold reality of the law.
After a tense five minutes, the security guards escorted Frank and Ryan out through the revolving glass doors into the rain.
“He’s losing control,” I said, watching his retreating figure on the wet sidewalk below.
“Men like Frank Mercer only know how to rule through fear,” Eleanor said, standing beside me. “The moment you strip away their ability to intimidate, they crumble. He knows he’s facing potential jail time for the assault, and now his company is going to implode within forty-eight hours.”
“What’s our next move?”
“Tomorrow is the court hearing,” Eleanor replied turning to face me. “They are going to offer a settlement. They will beg you to drop the charges in exchange for returning your money.”
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I looked out at the rainy city skyline, my jaw still aching slightly from Frank’s fist.
“Tell them no,” I said quietly. “I don’t just want my money back, Eleanor. I want them to pay for every single thing they did.”
