Chapter 9 - The Reckoning In Velvet
"You tricked us!" Chad yelled, his voice turning into a high-pitched, desperate screech. "This is entrapment! It doesn't matter if you can walk, Vance! I own your debt! Harrington Maritime owns the majority shares of your holdings! You are bankrupt! Stand all you want, you’re still a pauper!"
Ethan reached up, smoothly unbuttoning his jacket to reveal a pristine silver tie beneath. He tilted his head slightly.
"Marcus," Ethan said calmly. "Execute the liquidity squeeze."
Suddenly, every smartphone, tablet, and smartwatch in the room buzzed simultaneously. A chorus of sharp notification tones rang through the air like warning sirens.
Men at Table One pulled out their phones. Gasps of horror followed instantly.
"Chad!" an elderly board member screamed, dropping his glass. "The Harrington Maritime bond yield just collapsed! Trading has been halted on the New York Stock Exchange!"
Chad fumbled for his phone, his hands slick with sweat. His screen was glowing crimson. Over four hundred million dollars in automated margin calls had just hit his family's accounts.
"What... what is this?!" Chad stammered, staring at the screen in pure horror. "How are the shorts failing?!"
"The shell corporations you used to buy my debt," Ethan said calmly, taking another step up the stage stairs, "were funded by loans underwritten by the Apex Group in Zurich. The Apex Group is a wholly-owned subsidiary of my private trust. You borrowed my money to buy my debt, Chad."
Ethan stopped just inches from Chad, looming over him like an oncoming tempest.
"And ten seconds ago," Ethan whispered, "I called in the loan."
"No... no, no, no!" Chad clutched his hair, collapsing to his knees on the stage. "That’s everything! My family’s ships, our real estate, our private accounts... we’re wiped out! We’re completely liquidated!"
"You're not just liquidated, Chad," Ethan added coldly. "The FBI and the SEC have been monitoring the servers since yesterday. Marcus just handed them the offshore paper trail showing insider trading, corporate espionage, and illegal short-selling. Look toward the entrance."
The grand oak doors of the ballroom swung open again.
This time, it wasn't a fallen man in a wheelchair. It was eight federal agents in blue jackets, accompanied by the NYPD, badges gleaming under the crystal lights.
Brooke fell to her knees beside Chad, crawling forward, reaching out with manicured hands to grab the hem of Ethan’s trousers.
"Ethan! Ethan, please!" she sobbed, her mascara running in black rivers down her face. "I was confused! Chad forced me! He threatened my family! I always loved you! You know I love you! Please, take me back! Look at me, Ethan, remember what we had!"
Ethan looked down at the woman who had pushed his wheelchair away with disgust less than an hour ago. He gently, dispassionately, pulled his pant leg from her trembling fingers.
"The sight of infirmity ruins the champagne, Brooke," Ethan quoted her own cruel words back to her, his voice devoid of pity. "Security. Remove this garbage from my ballroom."
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Two federal agents walked onto the stage, their handcuffs clinking. They hauled Chad and Brooke to their feet as the crowd looked on in stunned, terrified awe. Brooke screamed and thrashed, her diamond jewelry scattering across the floor, while Chad hung his head, a broken, penniless shell of a man.
***
