Chapter 4 - Sunburns and Margaritas
Two thousand miles south, beneath the blazing, relentless sun of Cabo San Lucas, the atmosphere in the private cliffside cabana of the Las Ventanas al Paraíso resort was thick with arrogance and cheap luxury.
Diane Sterling leaned back against an ivory linen lounger, a crystal glass of passionfruit mimosa sweating in her manicured hand. Her skin was already turning an alarming shade of coral pink, but she wore it like a badge of honor.
“I told the concierge that the towels at the lower pool were completely unacceptable,” Diane declared loudly, adjusting her wide-brimmed Christian Dior sunhat. “I told him my son is a major real estate developer in the States. You have to make these people understand who you are immediately, Caleb, otherwise they treat you like common tourists.”
Caleb chuckled, adjusting his gold aviators as he scrolled through his phone. He looked tanned, relaxed, and utterly confident. He was already mentally spending the equity from Claire’s home.
“Don’t worry about it, Mom,” Caleb said, stretching his muscular arms over the back of his chair. “By next year, we won’t even be renting these villas. I was talking to a developer in the corridor earlier. There’s a private compound down near Palmilla that’s coming up for auction. Five million. Once I get Claire to sign over the title to the Highland Crest house, I’ll pull a second mortgage on it. We’ll have our own winter estate.”
Brooke sat on the edge of the plunge pool, dipping her freshly pedicured feet into the turquoise water, holding her phone aloft to capture a video for social media.
“Make sure you get my good side, Mom,” Brooke barked, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. She held up her cocktail, framing the ocean in the background, and typed out her caption: *Hard work pays off. Family first. Living our best life while the haters stay home.*
“Has Claire texted you today, Caleb?” Diane asked with a malicious smirk. “Has she finished cleaning my guest rooms yet?”
“She sent a message yesterday morning saying she was resting,” Caleb laughed dismissively. “You know how she gets. Silent. Sulking. She thinks if she gives me the cold shoulder, I’ll feel guilty. She doesn’t realize she has no leverage. She’s eight months pregnant with my child. Where is she going to go? What is she going to do?”
“She should be thanking God on her knees that you married her,” Diane sniffed, waving down an attendant. “A woman with her dull personality... without your charisma, she’d be an old maid reading books in that drafty museum of a house. Server! Another bottle of Dom Pérignon! And bring the seafood tower—the grand reserve one with the king crab!”
The young Mexican waiter bowed politely. “Right away, señora. I will just need to swipe the card on file to update the afternoon tab.”
“Yes, yes, take it,” Caleb said, carelessly tossing his sleek, black metal corporate card onto the silver tray. “Put everything on that. We’re doing the private sunset yacht cruise at five, too. Make sure the captain has the champagne chilled.”
“Certainly, Mr. Sterling.” The server hurried away toward the marble concierge pavilion.
Brooke climbed out of the pool, wrapping a silk sarong around her waist. “Caleb, I saw this gorgeous emerald tennis bracelet at the boutique in the lobby. Only nine thousand. Can I put it on the company card? You can write it off as a business gift for an investor, right?”
Caleb waved a dismissive hand. “Go ahead. Just tell them to put it under ‘Client Development.’ Once we close this restructuring with Claire, nine grand will be pocket change.”
Brooke squealed, throwing her wet arms around her brother’s neck. “You are the best brother in the world! Mom, isn't he the best?”
“He is a visionary,” Diane beamed, gazing at Caleb with blind adoration. “A real man who provides for his family.”
Ten minutes passed. The warm breeze rustled the palm fronds, carrying the scent of salt spray and expensive coconut oil.
Then, the server returned.
He was not carrying the seafood tower. Nor was he carrying the chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon.
Instead, he was accompanied by an older man wearing a sharply tailored dark suit and an earpiece—the resort’s assistant general manager. The manager’s expression was the polite, impenetrable mask of luxury hospitality about to deliver an execution.
“Mr. Caleb Sterling?” the manager asked softly, bowing his head slightly.
“Yeah?” Caleb frowned, lowering his sunglasses. “Where’s the wine? We’re on a schedule here.”
“I apologize for the intrusion, sir,” the manager said, holding Caleb’s black metal card between two fingers like a contaminated object. “However, when we attempted to run the authorization for your afternoon charges, as well as the balance for the remaining four nights of your villa stay... the transaction was declined.”
Caleb chuckled, shaking his head. “Declined? That’s impossible. That’s an unlimited commercial black card. Run it again. Your machine must have a glitch.”
“We ran it three times, sir,” the manager said evenly. “The terminal returns a Code 05: *Card Frozen by Issuing Institution – Contact Fraud Department.*”
Diane sat bolt upright, her sunburned cheeks flaring red. “How dare you! Do you know who my son is? Run it again! This is an insult!”
“Mom, calm down,” Caleb said, though a sudden, icy knot of anxiety tightened in the pit of his stomach. He pulled out his personal wallet and extracted Brooke’s card and his personal Visa. “Here. Try this one. Sterling Crest Consulting.”
The manager took the second card, tapped an order into a mobile terminal held by the server, and waited.
A sharp, shrill beep broke the silence.
*Transaction Terminated: Account Closed.*
Brooke gasped. “What? That’s my card! That’s my consulting account!”
Caleb’s heart hammered against his ribs. “Give me a second,” he muttered, his fingers suddenly slick with sweat as he grabbed his smartphone. He opened his banking app, tapped his face for biometric scan, and waited for his corporate dashboards to load.
A red banner flashed across the screen:
**ACCESS DENIED. USER CREDENTIALS SUSPENDED. CONTACT CORPORATE ADMINISTRATOR.**
Caleb stared at the screen. The air in his lungs seemed to vanish. “No... no, no, no.”
He opened his email. His company email account was logged out. When he typed in his password, a dialog box popped up: *Account deleted by Administrator Elena Ramos.*
“Caleb?” Diane’s voice was no longer arrogant; it was shrill, laced with panic. “Caleb, what is happening? Why aren’t the cards working?”
The resort manager’s posture subtly shifted, becoming colder, firmer. Two discrete security guards in beige linen suits drifted into view near the cabana entrance.
“Mr. Sterling,” the manager said, his voice dropping all pretense of warmth. “The current outstanding balance on this villa, including yesterday’s private dining and spa services, is twenty-two thousand, four hundred dollars. Under resort policy, if a valid method of payment is not secured within one hour, we will be forced to lock the villa, retain your luggage in the safe, and notify the local authorities.”
“Caleb!” Brooke shrieked, clutching her phone. “My boutique purchase didn't go through! The cashier looked at me like I was a criminal!”
Caleb’s hands were shaking violently. He dialed Claire’s number.
*Ring.*
*Ring.*
*Ring.*
*“You have reached the private residence of Claire Vance. If you are calling regarding legal or corporate matters, please direct all inquiries to the office of Marcus Hale & Associates. Goodbye.”*
May you like
The line went dead.
***
