Chapter 4 - Stripped Bare In The Rain
The scene in the estate’s circular driveway looked like a sequence from a military raid.
Heavy rain poured from the pitch-black sky, pounding against the asphalt like bullets.
Three massive matte-black SUVs with tinted windows sat idling, their headlights cutting through the storm.
Behind them, Diane, Brendan, and Jessica were pushed past the threshold of the grand front entrance.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed shut behind them with a definitive, bone-rattling boom.
A click echoed through the courtyard as the electronic biometric locks turned, glowing crimson.
Diane stood in the pouring rain, her designer silk gown instantly plastering to her frail frame.
Her meticulously styled coiffure collapsed into wet, stringy clumps around her cheeks.
“My luggage!” Diane wailed, pounding her fists against the reinforced oak doors.
“My jewelry boxes! My French perfumes!”
“Open this door right this instant!”
A cold metallic voice spoke through the exterior intercom speaker.
“All personal property claims must be submitted in writing to the Apex Vanguard Legal Department within thirty business days.”
“Any unauthorized attempt to breach the perimeter will result in immediate criminal arrest for felony trespassing.”
Jessica looked down at her strappy designer heels, which were rapidly sinking into the soggy mud beside the driveway.
“Brendan! Where is my limousine?” she cried, shivering violently as the freezing rain washed away her heavy makeup.
“Where is your driver?”
Brendan pulled out his sleek titanium smartphone with trembling, soaked hands.
He opened his private chauffeur app.
A giant red banner flashed across the screen: *ACCOUNT TERMINATED BY MASTER ADMINISTRATOR.*
He desperately switched over to his primary corporate black card app to book an emergency rideshare.
*TRANSACTION DECLINED: ASSET FREEZE ACTIVE.*
“No, no, no,” Brendan whimpered, his thumb frantic against the wet glass.
“This isn't real.”
“She can't do this!”
“The Morrison Group is independent!”
“My father built this name!”
He dialed his father, Richard Morrison, who had spent the evening at an exclusive country club in upstate New York.
The call connected on the fourth ring, and Richard’s panicked voice cut through the sound of the falling rain.
“Brendan? What the hell is going on?”
“I just got kicked out of the club lounge!”
“The club manager said my corporate membership was revoked ten minutes ago!”
“My car won't start—the remote telematics system shut off the engine!”
Brendan fell to his knees in the muddy gravel, rain blinding his eyes.
“Dad... Cassidy is Apex Vanguard.”
A long, horrified silence hung on the other end of the line.
“What did you say?” Richard whispered, his voice cracking with absolute terror.
“Cassidy?”
“The girl you made clean the guest rooms during Thanksgiving?”
“The girl Diane threw twenty dollars at during Christmas?”
“She owns Apex,” Brendan choked out, the reality finally crushing down on his chest like a ton of wet concrete.
“She initiated Protocol Seven, Dad.”
“Everything is gone.”
A sharp gasp escaped Richard’s throat before the line went dead.
Behind them, the glare of bright high beams illuminated the muddy driveway.
The heavy iron security gates swung slowly inward, and an armored Mercedes-Maybach pulled forward.
Through the tinted rear window, Brendan caught a brief glimpse of me.
I was sitting wrapped in dry cashmere, sipping hot herbal tea from a porcelain mug.
Beside me, the paramedic was gently adjusting a warm pillow behind my back.
As the luxury vehicle glided past the shivering, soaked trio, I did not turn my head to look at them.
Brendan lunged toward the car window, splashing mud across his expensive trousers.
“Cassidy! Please!”
“Cassidy, think about our daughter!”
The armored Maybach did not slow down by even a single mile per hour.
May you like
It surged past the gates, splashing a thick wave of muddy street water directly over Diane’s dripping face and Jessica’s ruined dress.
The heavy iron gates clanged shut behind us, locking the former monarchs out in the freezing dark.
