Chapter 6 - Total Financial Blackout
The final forty-eight hours of the Sterling family vacation in Cabo San Lucas did not resemble a luxury getaway; it resembled the frantic, humiliating unraveling of a third-rate crime syndicate.
Caleb had spent twenty-six hours trapped in the business center of the resort, screaming into his cell phone until his vocal cords were raw.
His calls to Elena Ramos went straight to an automated message stating that all human resource and executive inquiries were to be handled by Marcus Hale’s legal office. When he had called Marcus Hale, the receptionist had informed him with icy professionalism that Mr. Hale was in deposition and would communicate only via certified mail.
To keep the resort from summoning the Mexican federal police, Caleb had been forced to do the unthinkable: he had pulled off his beloved rose-gold Rolex—the watch he had flashed in everyone’s faces for two years—and handed it to the resort general manager as collateral, alongside Brooke’s diamond engagement ring from a previous failed fiancé and Diane’s vintage gold charm bracelet.
The resort had promptly moved them out of their five-thousand-dollar-a-night cliffside villa and relocated them to a cramped, mold-scented basement twin room near the laundry facilities, pending their departure flight.
“This is an outrage!” Diane shrieked for the thousandth time, sitting on a threadbare cot with her hands clutching her head. Her sunburn had begun to peel, revealing raw, red patches across her nose and forehead. “My son is a titan of industry! I am going to sue this resort! I am going to sue Claire! I am going to have her father’s trust investigated!”
“Shut up, Mom! Just shut up!” Brooke sobbed from the bathroom, staring at her phone screen.
Her Instagram account was currently being bombarded with comments. When Elena Ramos had frozen the corporate cards, she had also suspended the company’s corporate social media accounts, which Brooke had linked to her personal profile.
Worse, Brooke’s landlord back home had just sent an automated text alert: *Your monthly rent payment for Unit 12B has failed due to non-sufficient funds. A three-day notice to pay or quit has been issued.*
“Caleb!” Brooke wailed, running out of the bathroom with mascara streaking her cheeks. “My rent bounced! My landlord says he’s evicting me! What did you do with the money? You told me the consulting company was solid!”
Caleb sat on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. The tan on his face looked gray, sickly.
“It’s Claire,” Caleb whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of terror and disbelief. “It’s all Claire.”
“What do you mean, Claire?” Diane snapped. “That mouse? That meek little girl who can’t even pick out curtains without asking your permission? What could she possibly do?”
“She owns the company, Mom!” Caleb exploded, leaping to his feet, knocking a plastic chair across the room. “She owns sixty-eight percent! The convertibles... the paperwork I signed when we expanded two years ago! I thought it was just standard family loan junk Marcus drafted! She didn’t loan me that half million—she bought the controlling interest! She has the votes! She froze the accounts, she canceled my authority, she fired Brooke, and she locked down every single corporate line of credit!”
The room fell into a terrifying, suffocating silence.
The air conditioner sputtered, blowing lukewarm, humid air over the three of them.
Diane’s mouth opened and closed like a dying fish. “She... she can’t do that. You’re her husband! You’re the father of her child!”
“She did it, Mom!” Caleb yelled, grabbing his hair. “And that’s not the worst part. I called my banker from the lobby phone. The bank received a formal forensic audit notice signed by Claire Vance and Marcus Hale. They’ve flagged every single transfer to Brooke’s consulting firm as suspected grand larceny. They’re building a criminal file!”
Brooke dropped to the floor, her knees hitting the cheap tile with a thud. “Criminal? Prison? Caleb, I can’t go to prison! You told me that money was mine! You said it was a tax write-off!”
“You knew what it was, Brooke!” Caleb snarled. “You spent it on trips and nose jobs!”
“Stop it! Both of you, stop it!” Diane screamed, her voice cracking. She stood up, trying desperately to pull her shredded dignity around her like a blanket. “We are flying home tomorrow. Caleb, you will march into that house, you will take that girl by the shoulders, and you will remind her who is the head of that household! She is a pregnant, emotional wreck! She is doing this for attention because we didn't take her to Cabo! Once you are standing in front of her, she will fold. She always folds!”
Caleb looked at his mother. For the first time in his life, the blind illusion of Diane’s infallibility cracked. He saw her for what she was: a delusional, aging social climber who had ridden the coattails of his lies right into a brick wall.
“We don't even have first-class tickets, Mom,” Caleb said hollowly. “Our tickets were canceled when the card was revoked. The airline rebooked us on a red-eye economy flight with two layovers. In the middle seats.”
Diane looked at him as if he had slapped her.
May you like
“Then we fly economy,” Diane hissed, her eyes burning with venom. “And when we land, that little girl will pay for every single minute of this humiliation.”
***
