Chapter 7 - The Boardroom Execution
By nine o'clock the next morning,
the morning sun hit the glass tower of Apex Wealth Management,
the prestigious firm where Eric had worked for the last six years.
The building was a temple of glass,
steel,
and corporate privilege,
located in the heart of the financial district.
Eric stepped out of a cheap yellow taxi,
wearing the one clean suit he had managed to pull from his cardboard box.
He had spent the night in a noisy two-star motel near the highway,
listening to the sound of semi-trucks passing by while Vanessa cried in the bed beside him.
He straightened his tie,
smoothed down his hair,
and put on his best confident face.
"It doesn't matter," Eric muttered to himself as he walked through the sliding glass doors.
"Claire can freeze my personal accounts,"
"but she can't touch my career."
"I am the senior VP of client relations."
"My salary is six figures."
"I will rebuild."
He walked up to the secure turnstiles in the main lobby,
pulled out his corporate ID badge,
and tapped it against the scanner.
BEEP. BEEP.
A harsh red light flashed on the digital barrier,
and the glass gate remained firmly shut.
Eric frowned,
tapping it again,
harder this time.
Access Denied.
"Hey! What's wrong with this scanner?" Eric called out to the front desk guard.
Before the guard could answer,
the elevator doors at the back of the lobby opened,
and two men in dark suits stepped out,
accompanied by Arthur Vance.
Behind them walked Richard Vance,
the managing partner of Apex Financial,
and Claire’s personal attorney.
Eric’s stomach dropped into his shoes.
"Richard?" Eric stammered,
stepping back from the turnstile.
"What's going on here? My keycard isn't working."
Richard Vance looked at Eric with an expression of intense disgust,
as if he were looking at a stain on his expensive leather shoes.
"Eric," Richard said,
his voice cold and formal.
"Your employment with Apex Wealth Management has been terminated,
effective six o'clock this morning."
"Terminated?" Eric gasped,
his face going completely white.
"On what grounds? I brought in thirty percent of the firm’s retail clients last quarter!"
Arthur Vance stepped forward,
opening a manila folder with deliberate slow movement.
"Mr. Dawson," Arthur said,
his voice carrying across the quiet lobby.
"During an emergency internal audit conducted early this morning,"
"we discovered multiple policy violations."
"First,
you submitted expense reports totaling forty-two thousand dollars over the last eight months for 'client dinners' and 'luxury hotel conferences.'"
"Those expenses were matched directly to travel itineraries involving your sister-in-law,
Vanessa."
"That is corporate embezzlement," Arthur declared smoothly.
"Second," Richard Vance interjected,
"eighty percent of the major capital assets held under your management portfolio were backed by guarantees from the Dawson Family Trust."
"Which is entirely owned and controlled by Claire Dawson."
"Late last night,
Mrs. Dawson officially withdrew all trust indemnifications associated with your account management."
"Without her backing,
you no longer meet the regulatory capital requirements to hold your licensing."
Eric stood frozen,
his breath coming in short,
ragged gasps.
"Richard,
please," Eric pleaded,
taking a step closer to the barrier.
"This is a personal domestic dispute! Claire is manipulating the situation because of a private divorce!"
"You can't let her ruin my career!"
"You ruined your own career,
Eric," Richard Vance replied coldly.
"You used company funds to finance an extramarital affair."
"You damaged the reputation of this firm."
"And frankly,
you were fool enough to betray the woman who made your entire career possible."
Two security guards stepped up beside Eric,
their hands placed firmly on their belts.
"We have already packed your desk," Richard added,
gesturing to a small plastic bin sitting near the desk.
"Your final paycheck has been withheld to offset the fraudulent expense claims."
"If you set foot in this building again,
you will be arrested for corporate trespass."
"Wait!" Eric screamed as the guards took him by the arms,
turning him back toward the exit doors.
"You can't do this to me! I built this department!"
"You built nothing," Arthur Vance said quietly from behind the barrier,
watching Eric struggle against the guards.
"You were merely standing on a pedestal built by your wife."
"Now that she has stepped away,"
"you are realizing just how small you really are."
The heavy glass doors slid open,
and Eric was tossed out onto the sidewalk in full view of dozens of his former colleagues arriving for work.
The street noise of the morning commute rushed over him,
loud,
chaotic,
and utterly uncaring.
He stood on the pavement,
holding a plastic bin of paper clips and desk ornaments,
watching the reflection of the glass tower shimmer in the morning sun.
The fairy tale was completely over.
He had no home,
no money,
no credit,
May you like
and now,
no job.
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