Chapter 3 - THE RUINS OF APEX
By the following morning, the news of the spectacular collapse of Apex Construction dominated the front pages of every financial journal in the Southwest.
"DEFENSE AND CONSTRUCTION GIANT IMPLODES AS PRIMARY TRUST REVOKES $80M GUARANTEE," the headlines read. "FOUNDER ALISTAIR WHITMORE STRIPPED OF EXECUTIVE POWERS AMIDST MASSIVE FINANCIAL AUDIT."
Alistair sat inside a cramped, windowless room on the second floor of a temporary legal aid office in downtown Phoenix. His six-thousand-euro suit was wrinkled, his hair was messy, and his eyes were bloodshot from a night spent sitting on the floor of his sister's cramped two-bedroom rental apartment.
Sitting across from him was his personal criminal defense attorney, David Sterling—a man he had paid a fifty-thousand-dollar retainer to just three days ago.
Sterling closed a thin red folder and sighed heavily. "Alistair, I'm going to give it to you straight. You don't have a defense."
"What do you mean I don't have a defense?!" Alistair shouted, leaning across the table, his knuckles white. "Thomas Vance pulled his credit guarantee out of spite! It's tortious interference! I built that company! I managed the workers! I signed the municipal building permits!"
"You signed the permits, Alistair," Sterling said calmly, "using capital provided by Thomas Vance's private trust. And according to the audit reports submitted to the State Licensing Board two hours ago, you transferred over three hundred thousand dollars of company funds over the last eighteen months into private accounts belonging to your mother, your sister, and your personal luxury expenses."
Alistair’s breath hitched in his throat. "That... those were executive bonuses!"
"They were unauthorized withdrawals from accounts backed by federal municipal bonds," Sterling corrected. "The District Attorney’s office has already opened a preliminary grand jury investigation into commercial fraud and tax evasion. And because your father-in-law revoked his personal indemnification agreement, you are personally liable for every single penny of Apex's outstanding debts."
"How much?" Alistair whispered, his voice trembling.
Sterling pulled out a single sheet of white paper and pushed it across the table.
"Forty-two million dollars, Alistair," Sterling said. "You owe the banks twenty-six million for the Miami high-rise project, eight million to the steel suppliers in Ohio, and eight million in back taxes and municipal penalties."
Alistair stared at the astronomical number on the paper. The air left his lungs in a long, wheezing gasp.
"Where is Nicole?" Alistair stammered, grabbing Sterling’s sleeve. "Where is my wife? I need to talk to her! She’s my wife! She can convince her father to drop this! She loves me!"
Sterling looked at Alistair with quiet disgust, pulling his sleeve out of his grip.
"Mrs. Whitmore filed for an immediate emergency divorce at eight o'clock this morning," Sterling stated flatly. "She is seeking full legal and physical custody of your son, a permanent restraining order, and forty percent of your future income in child support—though considering your current financial trajectory, forty percent of zero is still zero."
"No... no!" Alistair screamed, jumping up from his chair, knocking it backward onto the floor. "She can't do this to me! I gave her a life! I put a roof over her head! She was sewing clothes for neighbors like a peasant before I married her!"
"She was sewing clothes for neighbors three days ago, Alistair," Sterling said, standing up and buttoning his coat. "Because you refused to give her money to buy your son a fifteen-dollar birthday cake."
Sterling picked up his briefcase and walked toward the door.
"Where are you going?!" Alistair panicked, following him into the hallway. "You're my lawyer!"
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"I was your lawyer while your retainer check cleared," Sterling said without turning around. "As of twenty minutes ago, your bank called to inform me that your personal account has been attached by the bankruptcy court. I don't work for free, Mr. Whitmore. Good day."
Alistair stood alone in the hallway of the legal aid office, surrounded by cheap fluorescent lights and peeling wallpaper, as the reality of his total destruction settled over him like a suffocating shroud.
