Chapter 3 - Desperate Calls at Midnight
By 10:00 PM, the storm outside matched the tempest consuming the Vance family empire.
Inside the grand study of the Vance estate, Charles Vance was dripping with sweat, his expensive tie loosened, his hair disheveled as he screamed into his desk telephone. Surrounding him were his accountants, lawyers, and a terrified Evelyn, who was staring at her phone in disbelief.
"What do you mean the emergency loan is denied?!" Charles roared into the receiver. "I've been a premier client of this bank for twenty years!"
"Mr. Vance," the bank vice president responded coldly over the speakerphone. "Pendelton Global Holdings just acquired eighty percent of our bank's parent equity an hour ago. Mr. Pendelton himself issued an explicit directive: all credit facilities extended to the Vance family and Vance International are revoked immediately. Good night, Charles."
The line disconnected. Charles dropped the receiver, his hands shaking violently.
"Dad..." Evelyn whimpered, her face pale as snow. "Is... is it true? Is Arthur really the head of Pendelton Global? The man who owns our mortgages?"
"How could he be?!" Charles shouted, slamming his fists onto his mahogany desk. "He drove a five-year-old car! He wore off-the-rack suits! He let us pay for the wedding venue!"
"He paid for the venue, Charles," Evelyn’s mother whimpered from the couch, holding a glass of wine with trembling hands. "Don't you remember? He transferred the venue deposit from a private trust account three months ago..."
Before Charles could reply, his head of security burst into the room without knocking. "Mr. Vance! We have a major problem outside the gates!"
"What now?!" Charles yelled.
"Four moving vans and a team of private bailiffs just arrived," the security chief reported nervously. "They have a court order signed by a federal judge. Because Vance International defaulted on its corporate bond covenants at 9:00 PM, the estate, the vehicles, and all personal luxury assets listed as collateral are being seized immediately."
"They can't do that!" Charles screamed, rushing toward the window.
Outside, blue emergency lights reflected off the pouring rain. A fleet of flatbed tow trucks was already hoisting Charles’s prized vintage sports cars onto their beds.
Charles grabbed his phone and dialed my number with frantic, shaking fingers. This time, he wasn't calling to intimidate me—he was calling out of pure, unadulterated terror.
I answered on the third ring. "Yes, Charles?"
"Arthur! Son!" Charles begged, his previous arrogance entirely evaporated, replaced by a pathetic, desperate whine. "Arthur, please! We had a misunderstanding today! A tragic misunderstanding! Evelyn was just playing a foolish prank! We didn't mean any disrespect to your wonderful mother!"
"A prank?" I replied coldly. "Spraying an elderly woman with freezing water in front of two hundred people and calling her 'miserable poor trash' is a prank to you, Charles?"
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"I was wrong! I was completely wrong!" Charles cried out, tears mixing with his sweat. "I will get on my knees! I will apologize to your mother in front of the entire city! Just please... stop the asset seizures! Don't ruin my family!"
"You ruined your own family the moment you believed money gave you the right to strip another human being of their dignity," I declared firmly. "Enjoy the morning sunrise, Charles. It will be the last time you see it from inside that mansion."
