Chapter 6 - The Complete Collapse
Julian Mercer stood frozen,
his expensive,
custom-made Italian leather shoes rooted to the plush,
imported carpet of his massive,
glass-walled executive office.
His breathing was shallow,
rapid,
and filled with an overwhelming,
suffocating sense of absolute,
unmitigated terror.
On the large,
flat-screen television mounted against the sleek,
modern wall,
the breaking,
urgent financial news anchor was loudly,
excitedly discussing the unprecedented,
shocking collapse of Mercer Holdings.
The stock price,
which Julian had ruthlessly,
dishonestly inflated using Clara's stolen,
hidden funds,
was currently plummeting at a staggering,
dizzying rate.
His personal,
secure cell phone had been vibrating continuously,
relentlessly,
for the past three,
agonizing hours.
Every single call was from a panicked,
furious investor,
or a terrified,
cowardly board member demanding an immediate,
comprehensive explanation.
He reached out with a trembling,
sweaty hand,
picking up a heavy,
crystal whiskey tumbler from his polished,
mahogany desk.
He took a large,
desperate gulp of the burning,
amber liquid,
hoping it would somehow,
miraculously calm his racing,
panicking heart.
Suddenly,
the heavy,
frosted glass door of his office swung open with a violent,
loud crash.
His lead attorney,
the same sleazy,
overpriced man from the courtroom,
stumbled into the room,
looking pale,
sickly,
and completely defeated.
"It is over,
Julian,"
the lawyer gasped,
clutching a thick,
heavy stack of terrifying,
legally binding documents to his heaving,
sweaty chest.
"The Vance corporation has officially,
legally initiated a complete,
hostile takeover of all your primary,
subsidiary,
and offshore assets."
Julian dropped the crystal,
expensive glass,
watching in slow,
horrifying motion as it shattered into a million tiny,
glittering pieces on the soft,
expensive rug.
"That is impossible,
ridiculous,
and completely illegal!"
Julian screamed,
his voice cracking with a high,
hysterical pitch of pure,
unadulterated desperation.
"I built this entire,
massive empire from the ground up,
and no crazy,
vindictive old woman is going to take it all away from me in a single,
miserable afternoon!"
The lawyer shook his head,
a grim,
hopeless expression crossing his pale,
sweaty face.
"She already has,
Julian,
and she has also forwarded all your hidden,
fraudulent tax records directly to the federal,
criminal investigative authorities."
Julian felt the blood drain completely,
rapidly from his face,
leaving him feeling cold,
hollow,
and utterly destroyed.
He had believed,
with absolute,
arrogant certainty,
that Clara was weak,
vulnerable,
and entirely alone in this cold,
unforgiving world.
Now,
he was realizing,
with a crushing,
suffocating dread,
that he had unknowingly,
foolishly awakened a sleeping,
invincible dragon.
The lawyer carefully,
nervously placed the thick,
heavy documents onto the polished,
wooden desk,
backing away slowly,
cautiously,
as if Julian were a dangerous,
unpredictable wild animal.
"I am resigning,
effective immediately,
because I refuse to go to federal,
maximum-security prison for your stupid,
greedy mistakes,"
the lawyer declared,
turning around quickly,
and practically running out of the large,
spacious office.
Julian was left entirely,
completely alone,
listening to the distant,
muffled sounds of his employees packing their small,
cardboard boxes,
fleeing the rapidly,
inevitably sinking ship.
He walked slowly,
stiffly toward the massive,
floor-to-ceiling window,
looking down at the busy,
bustling city streets far,
far below.
He had spent his entire,
miserable adult life manipulating,
using,
and destroying innocent,
trusting people,
always believing he was smarter,
faster,
and fundamentally better than everyone else.
He had looked at Clara,
with her beautiful,
kind eyes and her generous,
loving heart,
and seen only a convenient,
profitable stepping stone for his own selfish,
endless ambition.
Now,
that beautiful,
kind woman was sitting safely,
comfortably in a multi-billion-dollar,
impenetrable fortress,
protected by an army of loyal,
ruthless defenders.
Meanwhile,
he was standing alone,
bankrupt,
terrified,
and waiting for the federal,
armed agents to break down his beautiful,
expensive glass doors.
He pulled out his sleek,
expensive phone,
scrolling frantically,
desperately through his long,
extensive contact list,
looking for anyone,
absolutely anyone,
who might be willing,
able,
or foolish enough to help him.
He called his wealthy,
arrogant country club friends,
but every single,
desperate call went straight,
immediately to a cold,
automated voicemail.
He called his slimy,
corrupt politicians,
the ones he had generously,
illegally funded for years,
but their receptionists firmly,
coldly informed him that they were completely,
permanently unavailable.
Eleanor Vance had not just taken his money,
his company,
and his unearned,
stolen status.
She had systematically,
ruthlessly,
and entirely erased his very existence from the wealthy,
elite society he had so desperately,
pathetically crawled to join.
He fell to his knees,
right there on the soft,
plush carpet,
surrounded by the sharp,
dangerous shards of broken,
crystal glass,
finally allowing a loud,
May you like
pathetic sob to escape his dry,
tight throat.
