Chapter 6 - The Silence of the Phone
The morning sun crept across the floor of the penthouse, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the empty space where Claire’s grand piano used to sit. For the first time in my life, the absolute silence of the city didn't feel like a luxury. It felt like a tomb.
I picked up my phone. The screen was a barren wasteland. No notifications from the board, no texts from the frantic executives who usually begged for my approval, and certainly no messages from the women who used to hang on my every word. I dialed my lead attorney, a man I had paid millions over the last decade. It went straight to voicemail. I dialed my golf partner, a hedge fund manager who had literally kissed my cheek three days ago at the country club. The line rang twice before clicking dead.
I was officially radioactive.
The heavy oak doors of the penthouse opened, and a pair of men in cheap suits walked in, carrying clipboards. They didn't knock. They didn't have to.
"Mr. Morgan," the taller one said, his voice entirely devoid of the deference I was accustomed to. "We are with the federal receivership office. Your personal assets are being liquidated to cover the corporate restitution ordered by the court. You have one hour to vacate the premises. You may take one suitcase of personal clothing. No watches, no electronics, no cash."
I stared at them, the reality of my absolute ruin hitting me like a physical blow. The empire I had ruthlessly built, the corners I had cut, the wife I had casually discarded—it had all converged into this singular, humiliating moment. I walked into the master bedroom, pulling a duffel bag from the closet, and began tossing in whatever I could grab.
When I walked out of the lobby of my own building, the doorman didn't even meet my eyes. I stepped out onto the freezing Manhattan pavement, clutching a canvas bag, with exactly forty-two dollars in my wallet.
May you like
Then, a sleek, armored black car rolled to a stop directly in front of me. The tinted rear window slid down, revealing a man with cold, calculating eyes and a silver cane resting against his knee.
"You look pathetic, Daniel," Elias Vance purred, swirling a glass of whiskey. He was the undisputed king of the commercial real estate market, and the only man in the city who hated Claire as much as I did. "Get in. We have work to do."
