Chapter 4 - The Panic in the Penthouse Suite
At six-fifteen the following morning, Jerome Chase sat on the edge of an unmade king-size bed at the St. Regis Hotel.
His necktie was undone, hanging loosely around his unbuttoned collar.
His eyes were bloodshot from a night spent drinking mediocre scotch and refreshing his banking applications.
Across the small sitting area, Bridget was curled up on an armchair, wrapped in a plush hotel bathrobe.
Her mascara had smeared down her cheeks, and her right cheek was still visibly swollen from my slap.
Her smartphone lay on the glass coffee table, vibrating incessantly with incoming calls from senior Northgate executives.
"Answer them, Jerome," Bridget whimpered, clutching a mug of cold tea.
"The chief financial officer has called six times."
"The trading desk is opening in ninety minutes."
"Shut up, Bridget," Jerome snapped, his voice hoarse and raw.
It was the first time in two years he had ever spoken to her with anything other than indulgence.
Bridget flinched, pulling the robe tighter around her neck.
"Don't speak to me like that!" she shouted back, her voice shaking.
"I did what I did last night because she insulted us!"
"She called me an administrative subordinate in front of people who look up to you!"
"You idiot," Jerome whispered, standing up and running both hands through his disheveled hair.
"You complete, narcissistic idiot."
"You thought she was just an insecure wife?"
"You thought she was like the socialites you follow on Instagram?"
"Leona is the granddaughter of Walter Drayton."
"The Drayton trust doesn't just own the debt on Northgate."
"They own eighty percent of the voting shares through the B-class preferred stock."
"I have voting power only as long as I am in good standing with their investment committee."
Bridget’s mouth fell open, her face draining of color.
"You told me you owned the company outright," she whispered.
"You told me you had eighty-five percent equity."
"I have equity options that vest only upon successful acquisitions!" Jerome roared, kicking a discarded leather shoe across the Persian rug.
"And the Bellmore acquisition just died the second your hand hit her face!"
Jerome picked up his personal cell phone and tried to open his private banking app.
A bright red warning screen flashed across the interface.
Access Restricted: Account Suspended by Trustee Authorization.
He tapped furiously on the screen.
Nothing happened.
He opened his secondary corporate account.
Account Frozen: Pending Forensic Compliance Review.
"No, no, no," Jerome muttered under his breath, cold sweat soaking through the back of his shirt.
He grabbed his wallet and pulled out his black titanium credit card.
He walked over to the hotel room desk, picked up the room phone, and dialed the front desk.
"This is Jerome Chase in suite eight-fourteen."
"I want to pre-authorize the charges for an extended stay."
There was a brief pause on the line while the receptionist typed on a keyboard.
"Mr. Chase, I apologize, but we just ran the card on file for your incidentals, and the transaction was declined by the issuing institution."
"Try it again," Jerome demanded, his voice cracking.
"There is a three-hundred-thousand-dollar limit on that line."
"Sir, the merchant terminal indicates a regulatory freeze."
"The issuing bank has flagged the account for administrative review."
"Do you have an alternative method of payment for the room?"
Jerome slammed the receiver down onto the cradle with a furious curse.
Bridget stared at him, terror finally piercing through her shallow vanity.
"Jerome, my brother called me ten minutes ago from Denver."
"He said federal agents from the SEC just served a subpoena at his apartment for the Crestview records."
"They froze his personal checking account."
"He can't even pay his rent."
Jerome stared at Bridget, his expression turning from panic to sheer loathing.
"Tell your brother to hire a lawyer," Jerome hissed.
"Because if those Crestview transfers lead back to Northgate's general ledger, you and Toby are going to prison."
"Me?" Bridget screamed, jumping out of the armchair.
"You told me those were consulting bonuses!"
"You told me you were setting up an offshore venture fund for our future!"
"You signed the authorization forms, Bridget," Jerome said, his voice dropping into a sinister, icy register.
"You were the compliance officer of record for Crestview."
"My name appears nowhere on those wire disbursements."
Bridget backed away from him as if he had pulled a weapon.
"You coward," she breathed.
"You absolute coward."
Before Jerome could respond, the suite door rattled with three sharp, authoritative knocks.
Jerome froze.
Bridget stepped behind the corner of the hallway, trembling.
Jerome walked slowly toward the door, looked through the peephole, and saw two men in dark charcoal suits.
One of them held a thick manila envelope bearing the official gold seal of the New York State Supreme Court.
May you like
The day of reckoning had not waited for the morning markets to open.
It had arrived directly at his hotel room door.
