Chapter 3 - The Freezing of the Bloodline
The Morrison family spent the next seven minutes throwing their expensive designer clothes into garbage bags under the cold, unblinking glare of my security team. Jessica was crying openly, her expensive mascara running down her face as she tried to salvage a pair of Louboutins that she had likely charged to Brendan’s corporate credit card.
"Arthur," I said as I walked out toward the awaiting luxury SUV, my cashmere coat keeping the baby safe and warm. "What is the status of their personal assets?"
"As you know, Chairwoman, the Morrison family wealth is entirely dependent on their executive salaries and stock options within Sovereign Group," Arthur explained, walking a half-step behind me. "Under the terms of Protocol 7, we have initiated an immediate internal audit of all expenses filed by Brendan Morrison, his father Richard, and his cousin Thomas over the past four fiscal years."
"And what did we find?"
"Widespread corporate fraud, Madam," Arthur said, a thin, dangerous smile appearing on his face. "Brendan has been leasing a private yacht in Miami using the marketing development budget. Diane’s non-profit charity foundation—the one she uses to host these lavish dinners—is entirely funded by a Sovereign Group corporate social responsibility grant that was approved through a forged signature."
I stopped at the door of the SUV, turning back to look at the grand mansion. The porch lights flickered as the automated corporate property management system began to shut down the main utilities.
"Freeze it all," I said. "Every bank account linked to their names, every corporate card, every vehicle lease. If they want a cab tonight, they can use that twenty-dollar bill Diane offered me."
Just then, Brendan rushed out of the front doors, his tie loose, holding a single leather suitcase. "Cassidy! Please! Just listen to me for one second!"
Marcus instantly stepped between us, his hand resting on the butt of his sidearm, but I raised a finger, signaling him to stand down.
"You're pregnant with my child, Cassidy!" Brendan pleaded, his voice cracking as the cold Sunday rain began to fall on his bare head. "Our daughter! You can't do this to her family! If you ruin us, you’re ruining her legacy!"
I looked at him—the man I had spent three years trying to please, the man who had watched his mother pour filthy water over my pregnant stomach and laughed.
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"My daughter’s legacy is Sovereign Group, Brendan," I said, my voice as cold as the rain. "Your legacy is a federal indictment. Don't worry about her. She’ll never have to know the smell of dirty water."
I stepped into the vehicle, and the heavy, bulletproof door shut with a solid, definitive click, leaving the Morrisons in the dark.
