Chapter 6 - The Fall of Oral Elite
The news of Malcolm Vance’s arrest sent shockwaves through the regional business community within twenty-four hours.
The Business Journal published a front-page exposé detailing the scandal: FOUNDER OF LUXURY BRAND ARRESTED FOR CRIMINAL FORGERY AFTER FABRICATING PATENT TO DESTROY ESTRANGED SON’S LOGISTICS FIRM.
The fallout for Sterling’s company, Oral Elite, was instantaneous and catastrophic.
Without the fake software access he had tried to extort from me, Sterling’s logistics operations completely collapsed over the weekend. Four hundred thousand dollars in unfulfilled luxury products sat rotting on warehouse floors. His primary overseas suppliers, realizing the company was built on an illusion, canceled their distribution agreements and called in three million dollars in immediate debt notes.
By Monday morning, Oral Elite’s corporate landlord served an emergency eviction notice on their lavish downtown headquarters.
I sat in my private office at Apex Route, watching the rain hit the glass windows, sipping a hot cup of black coffee.
My phone chimed. It was an email notification from the State Bankruptcy Court.
Oral Elite had officially filed for Chapter 7 emergency liquidation. Sterling’s five-million-dollar trust fund was completely gone—drained by luxury lease payments, bloated marketing budgets, executive bonuses, and bad supply chain management.
My door opened, and Marcus walked in, setting a file on my desk.
“The bankruptcy trustee for Oral Elite reached out to our legal department an hour ago, Emtt,” Marcus said softly.
“What do they want?” I asked.
“They’re auctioning off Oral Elite’s physical assets to satisfy vendor debt,” Marcus explained. “Two regional warehouses, seventy commercial delivery vans, and three hundred thousand dollars worth of unencumbered packaging inventory. The total liquidation package is valued at four million dollars.”
I looked up at Marcus. “What’s the opening bid at auction?”
“Starting bid is five hundred thousand cash,” Marcus smiled faintly. “Because no one else wants to touch a scandal-plagued asset.”
I leaned back in my chair, looking out at the city skyline.
Three years ago, my brother had flicked a fifty-dollar bill across a marble floor and called it his first charitable donation to my life. Now, his entire multi-million-dollar company was sitting on an auction block for pennies on the dollar.
“Submit a bid for six hundred thousand, Marcus,” I commanded flatly. “We’ll use their distribution warehouses to expand Apex Route’s logistics hubs.”
“Consider it done, boss,” Marcus replied, turning to leave.
Just as Marcus reached the door, my desk phone buzzed. It was my receptionist.
“Mr. Vance... I’m so sorry to bother you, but... your mother is downstairs in the lobby. She’s crying, and she’s refusing to leave until she speaks with you.”
I closed my laptop, took a slow, steadying breath, and buttoned my suit jacket.
“Send her up,” I said softly.
Three minutes later, the frosted glass doors opened.
Celeste walked inside. She was no longer wearing her elegant cashmere sweaters or diamond jewelry. Her hair was unstyled, her eyes red and swollen from days of weeping, and her expensive wool coat was rumpled. She looked broken, aged, and terrified.
She stepped into my sleek office, looking around at the high-floor views, the leather furniture, and the professional staff working outside my glass walls.
“Emtt...” she whispered, her voice cracking as tears spilled down her face. “Sweetheart... please...”
I stayed seated behind my desk, folding my hands calmly. “Hello, Celeste.”
She rushed forward, falling to her knees right beside my desk, reaching out her hands to grab my sleeve. “Emtt, you have to help us! The bank froze your father’s personal accounts because of the legal fees! The sheriff served us with a foreclosure notice on the house this morning! They’re taking everything!”
I didn't pull my arm away, but I didn't offer her a tissue either. I just looked down at her with deadpan eyes.
“Where is Sterling?” I asked.
“Sterling is sleeping on a friend’s couch in the suburbs!” she sobbed, clutching my suit sleeve tighter. “He’s broke, Emtt! He has nothing left! Your father is sitting in a county jail cell waiting for his bail hearing, and we don't even have fifty thousand dollars to pay the bond agent!”
She looked up into my eyes, her face twisted in pure, desperate supplication.
“You’re rich now, Emtt! You have a two-million-dollar company! You just bought Sterling’s warehouses! Please... pay your father’s bail! Buy back our house! Save your family!”
I slowly leaned forward, pulling my sleeve gently out of her grasp.
“Three years ago,” I said, my voice as quiet and cold as a winter morning, “I stood by the front door of your mansion with a ripped duffel bag. I asked you where I was supposed to go.”
Celeste froze, her breath catching in her throat.
“Do you remember what you told me, Celeste?” I asked softly.
She couldn't speak. She shook her head frantically, tears streaming down her wrinkles.
“You looked me in the eye,” I continued, every word landing like an iron hammer, “and you said: 'Your father is right, sweetheart. Sterling has a vision. You need to find your own path.'”
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I stood up from my chair, towering over her as she knelt on my rug.
“I found my path, Celeste,” I said, looking down at her with absolute, unshakeable clarity. “And it doesn't include saving the people who threw me out to starve.”
