Chapter 6 - The Freezing of Assets
Within forty-eight hours of the bail hearing, the financial hammer fell on Whitmore Holdings.
Because Owen had transferred forty thousand dollars of the fraudulent cabin sale money directly into the company’s payroll account, the federal government executed a seizure warrant. The entire corporate bank account was frozen, locking up over three million dollars in operating capital.
Richard Whitmore sat in his luxury office, staring at his computer screen in disbelief. The screen displayed a stark, red notification from the bank: ACCOUNT SUSPENDED BY ORDER OF THE UNITED STATES DISTRICT COURT.
His phone rang. It was his chief financial officer.
“Richard, we have a crisis,” the CFO said, his voice trembling. “The subcontractors for the downtown development project are refusing to work. Their weekly payments didn't go through. The union is threatening to pull the workers off the site by noon.”
“Pay them from the reserve account!” Richard ordered, his voice cracked with panic.
“We can’t!” the CFO cried. “The reserve account is linked to the primary tax ID. The feds froze everything associated with the corporate entity because of Owen’s transaction. Richard... we are default-vulnerable. If we don't pay the contractors by Friday, the city is going to terminate our contract and execute the performance bond. We will be bankrupt within thirty days.”
Richard slammed the phone down, his chest heaving.
At that moment, the door to his office opened, and Margaret walked in. She was no longer the polished, pearl-wearing matriarch of the country club. Her eyes were sunken, her designer suit looked rumpled, and she was clutching a tissue.
“Richard,” she sobbed. “The bank just declined my credit card at the grocery store. They said our personal accounts are under review too. What is happening? We have to get Owen out of jail! He’s calling me from a payphone crying! He says the food is terrible, and the other men in there—”
“Shut up, Margaret!” Richard roared, slamming his fist onto the desk. “Your precious son didn't just steal from his wife—he ruined us! He put stolen money into my company account! Do you understand what that means? The feds think I was laundering his stolen funds!”
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Margaret gasped, stepping back. “But... but you’re Richard Whitmore. You can fix this. Can’t we just buy Violet out? Offer her the house! Offer her anything!”
“She doesn't want our money, Margaret,” Richard said, his voice dropping to a hollow, terrifying whisper as he stared out the window at the city skyline. “She has her own. And right now, she has the United States government fighting her battles for her. We are finished.”
