Chapter 5 - A Cracking Façade
The penthouse suite in downtown Chicago was in total chaos.
Brooke Ellison paced across the velvet rug, screaming into her phone as luggage and expensive shopping bags lay scattered across the floor.
"What do you mean my card was declined?!" Brooke shrieked into the receiver. "Try it again! It’s a black corporate account!"
"I'm sorry, ma'am," the concierge’s voice came back coldly over the line. "The account linked to this suite was frozen by Whitaker Development’s legal department an hour ago. You have until noon tomorrow to vacate the premises."
Brooke slammed the phone down just as the front door swung open. Preston stumbled inside, looking disheveled, his tie undone, his eyes hollow with terror.
"Preston!" Brooke stormed over, grabbing his jacket. "What is going on? My cards aren't working! The manager says we’re being kicked out of the penthouse! Fix it right now!"
Preston shoved her hand away roughly. "Shut up, Brooke! Just shut up!"
Brooke gasped, staggering back in shock. "Don't you dare talk to me like that! I am your wife! We had a ceremony!"
"It was a fake ceremony, you idiot!" Preston yelled, collapsing onto the sofa and burying his face in his trembling hands. "It was symbolic! It wasn't legally binding! And now Evelyn knows everything! She has the transfers, the house in Coronado, the receipts... everything!"
Brooke’s expression transformed from anger to sheer panic. "She knows? How? You told me she was a stupid, helpless housewife who didn't care about the business!"
"She owns ninety-two percent of the company stock!" Preston screamed back. "She pulled the board together this morning! She stripped my signature! My accounts are frozen! The SEC is conducting an audit on my personal holdings!"
Brooke stood frozen, her mind spinning fast. The luxury life she had envisioned—the high-society status, the endless fortune, the Whitaker name—was dissolving into ash right before her eyes.
"So... you have nothing?" Brooke asked, her voice dropping into a cold, transactional whisper. "The house in Coronado? The penthouse?"
"The bank is serving seizure notices on Coronado by tomorrow morning," Preston muttered, staring hopelessly at the floor. "I need you to give back the diamond necklace. If I can sell it, I can hire a high-powered criminal defense lawyer—"
"Give back my necklace?" Brooke sneered, stepping back toward her luggage. "Are you insane? You told me that was mine! You promised me I would be the primary beneficiary of the Whitaker fortune!"
"Brooke, listen to me—" Preston stood up, reaching for her.
"Don't touch me!" Brooke yelled, snatching her designer purse from the table. "You lied to me! You told me you were in control of the empire! You're nothing but a pathetic fraud living off your wife's allowance!"
"Brooke, please! You're all I have left!" Preston begged, the arrogance that had defined him for years completely vanishing.
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Brooke looked at him with pure disdain. "I’m not going down for your embezzlement, Preston. I have my own lawyers."
She turned on her high heels, grabbed her small carry-on bag, and slammed the door behind her, leaving Preston sitting alone in the darkening penthouse as the reality of his ruin settled over him.
