Chapter 7 - The Cornered Rats
With no money, no home, and no friends willing to associate with them after the viral spread of the doorbell video—which Arthur had quietly leaked to local community groups—Michael and Hattie were forced to rent a dingy, one-bedroom motel room on the outskirts of the city. The wallpaper was peeling, the air smelled of stale cigarette smoke, and the neon sign outside buzzed incessantly through the night.
Hattie sat on the creaking bed, her face twisted in a permanent scowl. “We need to fight this, Michael! We can’t let that country girl ruin us! There must be some law, some loop-hole!”
“There are no loopholes, Mom!” Michael snapped, his voice filled with a desperate, hysterical rage. “She owns the bank. She owns my former employer. She owns the lawyers. We are ruined! And it’s all because of you! Why did you have to put that chain on her mother? Why couldn't you just keep your mouth shut?”
“How dare you speak to me like that!” Hattie shrieked, throwing a plastic cup at him. “I did everything for you! I wanted you to have a real estate empire, not be married to a nobody! She’s the one who set us up!”
“She didn't set us up, Mom,” Michael said, burying his head in his hands, tears of regret finally spilling over. “She gave us a home. She paid for our lives. And we treated her like trash. We were the fools.”
Their argument was interrupted by a heavy, aggressive pounding on the motel door.
Michael opened it, expecting another lawyer. Instead, he was met by two burly men wearing leather jackets, their faces hardened with malice. Behind them stood Arthur Ambrose, his expensive suit looking slightly disheveled.
“Ambrose,” Hattie gasped, rushing to the door. “Oh, thank God. You have to help us. You have the money, the connections—”
Ambrose walked into the room, ignoring her outstretched hands. He looked around the dirty motel room with disgust.
“I’m not here to help you, Hattie,” Ambrose said, his voice low and dangerous. “Your stupid tax audit has dragged my logistics company into the federal spotlight. The IRS is currently freezing my shipping manifests because of the 'loans' I gave you. I lost twenty million dollars in contracts yesterday alone.”
Hattie went cold. “Ambrose, I didn't know—”
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“You’re a liability,” Ambrose interrupted, turning his gaze to Michael. “And since your mother can't pay me back the five hundred thousand dollars she owes me, I suggest you find a way to make it right. Otherwise, the desert is a very large, very quiet place for people who lose my money.”
Michael stared at him, his heart pounding in terror. He realized that Penelope’s legal revenge was only the first wave. The criminals his mother had associated with were now coming to collect.
