Chapter 5 - The Morning Of The Shattered Throne
By seven o'clock the following morning, the financial district of Manhattan was in absolute turmoil.
The financial news ticker on the exterior of the Stock Exchange ran a blazing red crawl:
*MORRISON GROUP HOLDINGS EXPERIENCES HISTORIC PRE-MARKET HALT.*
*BOARD OF DIRECTORS DISSOLVED FOLLOWING REVELATION OF APEX VANGUARD FORECLOSURE.*
Brendan stood outside the towering glass facade of the Morrison Group headquarters on Fifth Avenue.
He had spent the night sleeping on an uncomfortable vinyl sofa inside a twenty-four-hour diner with his mother and Jessica.
His tailored suit was wrinkled and smelled faintly of damp wool and cheap coffee.
Diane sat on a public concrete bench across the street, wrapped in a coarse five-dollar blanket someone had taken pity on her with.
Jessica was frantically pacing back and forth, her phone pressed to her ear as she tried to reach her wealthy socialite friends.
Every single one of them had sent her straight to voicemail.
“Brendan, go inside!” Jessica hissed, grabbing his elbow with desperate fury.
“You are the Chief Operating Officer!”
“They cannot fire you without a vote from the board of directors!”
“Go up to the fiftieth floor and stop this madness!”
Brendan swallowed hard, smoothing down his disheveled hair, trying to summon the arrogance that had carried him for seven years.
“You're right,” Brendan muttered to himself, trying to steady his shaking hands.
“I built the client relationships.”
“The clients know me, not Cassidy.”
“A company is made of people, not legal trusts.”
He strode through the revolving glass doors into the marble-lined atrium.
Two dozen employees and mid-level managers were gathered in small, anxious clusters, whispering in hushed tones.
The moment Brendan walked in, the murmurs stopped instantly.
Dozens of eyes turned toward him, filled not with respect, but with profound, uncomfortable pity.
Brendan ignored them, striding toward the private executive turnstile.
He pulled out his platinum RFID executive pass and tapped it against the sensor.
A loud, harsh buzzer sounded.
The light flashed crimson.
*ACCESS DENIED: CREDENTIALS REVOKED.*
Brendan slammed his hand against the glass barrier.
“Open this damn gate!” he barked at the security desk.
The security guard, a middle-aged veteran named Samuel whom Brendan had routinely ignored for four years, looked up calmly.
“Good morning, Mr. Morrison.”
“You do not have active security clearance for this facility.”
“Samuel, you idiot, I run this building!” Brendan roared, his face flushing crimson with humiliation.
“I sign your paycheck!”
“Actually, sir,” Samuel replied, pointing a calm finger toward the ceiling.
“The paycheck comes from Apex Vanguard Payroll LLC.”
“And according to the memorandum distributed at 6:00 AM, your employment was terminated for gross fiduciary negligence.”
Before Brendan could shout another word, the private executive elevator dinged softly.
The polished stainless-steel doors parted, revealing a sight that made the breath catch in Brendan’s throat.
Stepping out of the elevator was Director Vance, flanked by four federal auditors carrying black leather document cases.
And walking slowly between them, dressed in a bespoke ivory cashmere maternity suit and tailored Italian flats, was me.
My dark hair was blow-dried into sleek, elegant waves.
My skin was radiant, untouched by the previous night’s cruelty.
Around my neck rested the heirloom sapphire pendant of the Sterling family, catching the bright LED morning light.
May you like
Brendan’s voice shattered into a pathetic squeak.
“Cassidy...”
