Chapter 3 - Plastic and Panic
Across town, at the front desk of the Four Seasons, Marcus was sweating through his cashmere coat.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Carlisle," the concierge said with a polite but strained smile. "The card has been declined again. Do you have another form of payment?"
Serena, huddled in her own coat, glared at him. "Marcus, fix this. Everyone in the lobby is staring at us. Just use the black card."
"I am using the black card, Serena!" Marcus hissed, his fingers shaking as he dug through his designer wallet. He handed over a platinum business card. "Try this one. It's for my firm."
The concierge swiped it. The machine beeped an angry, flat tone. "Declined. Sir, if you cannot provide a valid—"
"Try it again!" Marcus slammed his fist on the marble counter.
"Sir, I must ask you to lower your voice," the concierge said coldly.
Serena grabbed Marcus’s arm, her nails digging in. "Call your bank! She can't just steal your money. You told me you owned the company!"
Marcus pulled away, stepping out of the lobby and into the freezing rain to dial his wealth manager. He waited through four rings before the man answered.
"David, what the hell is going on?" Marcus demanded. "All my cards are frozen. Fix it!"
"Marcus," David’s voice was remarkably unsympathetic. "I can't fix it. I received a directive from the primary trustee twenty minutes ago. All accounts linked to the Vanguard Trust have been seized due to a breach of marital fidelity and child endangerment clauses."
"I am the CEO of Carlisle Ventures!" Marcus screamed.
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"You are a salaried employee of a shell company owned by your wife's trust," David corrected smoothly. "Or rather, you were. You've been terminated, effective immediately. The corporate severance package is voided due to the morality clause. Furthermore, our auditors are currently looking into the $400,000 you funneled into Serena Vance's private accounts. That is considered embezzlement of trust assets. Expect to hear from our legal team. Goodbye, Marcus."
The line went dead. Marcus stood in the rain, the neon lights of the hotel reflecting in the puddles around his expensive shoes. He had nothing. No house, no money, no company. The illusion he had sold to Serena, and to himself, had evaporated in less than an hour.
