Chapter 2 - The Morning Panic
At precisely 8:30 a.m., I turned my personal cell phone back on. The device instantly vibrated with the violent, relentless buzz of a trapped hornet. Twenty-two missed calls. Fourteen voicemails. Thirty-seven text messages. Almost all of them were from my father, with a few frantic additions from my sister, Clara.
I ignored the notifications and poured Leo a bowl of his favorite cinnamon cereal. He came shuffling into the kitchen in his dinosaur pajamas, rubbing his eyes. He looked up at me hesitantly, his small shoulders slightly raised as if he were waiting for the temperature in the room to drop.
"Good morning, buddy," I said, keeping my voice bright and steady as I kissed the top of his head. "We have no school today, no work, and a whole box of colored pencils waiting for us. What do you want to draw first?"
A tiny, relieved sigh escaped his chest. "Can we draw a spaceship that goes to Mars?"
"We can draw a spaceship that goes all the way to the Andromeda galaxy," I told him, sliding the cereal bowl across the counter.
While he began munching, my phone lit up again. This time it wasn't a family member; it was an office number from the commercial lending department at First National Bank. I stepped into my home office, closed the glass door, and answered.
"Elena? It’s Marcus from First National," my banker said, his tone professional but laced with urgent curiosity. "I received your revocation notice at 6:15 this morning. I just want to verbally confirm that you intended to freeze the collateral line for Vance Logistics. They attempted to initiate their bi-weekly payroll draw at 8:00 a.m., and the system automatically rejected it."
"I confirm, Marcus," I said calmly, looking out the window at the frost on the lawn. "The pledge is formally revoked as of this morning. My consultancy’s assets are no longer acting as collateral for any of Arthur Vance’s business accounts."
"Understood," Marcus replied. "You should know your father is currently in the branch lobby. He’s arguing with our branch manager, claiming there’s been a technical glitch with your authorization. He’s quite... vocal."
"It’s not a glitch, and he knows it," I replied. "Please ensure my accounts remain strictly locked behind multi-factor authentication. If he attempts to present any outdated power-of-attorney documents or claims verbal authorization, reject them immediately."
"Already done, Elena. Your accounts are air-tight. Have a peaceful weekend."
The line clicked dead. Scarcely ten seconds later, my cell phone rang again. It was a local number I didn't recognize—likely my father calling from the bank branch's front desk or a burner phone. I let it go to voicemail.
May you like
Five minutes later, a text from Clara popped onto my screen, written in all caps: WHAT DID YOU DO? DAD IS HAVING A PANIC ATTACK AT THE BANK. THE EMPLOYEES CAN’T GET PAID TODAY. MOM IS CRYING. CALL DAD RIGHT NOW YOU SELFISH BITCH.
I stared at Clara’s message. For years, she had floated through life on the currents of my parents' favoritism, entirely unaware of the machinery that kept her lifestyle afloat. I didn't block her. Instead, I took a screenshot of her text, archived it in a new folder labeled Legal / Communications, and walked back into the kitchen to help my son color the rings of Saturn.
