Chapter 16 - The Financial Ruin
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By Tuesday morning, the storm had broken, but the hurricane surrounding Brooke was just making landfall.
Marcus delivered the dossier to the District Attorney’s white-collar crime unit exactly at 8:00 AM, including the audio recording of her attempted extortion. The wheels of justice are notoriously slow, but when presented with an airtight, multi-million dollar Ponzi scheme and ties to predatory corporate lenders, the system moves with terrifying speed.
At 11:30 AM, the Securities Board issued an emergency freeze on all bank accounts associated with Brooke Mercer Holloway.
I received the update via a secure email from Marcus. I was sitting in my favorite armchair, sipping black coffee. Lorraine was reading a book opposite me, enjoying the quiet peace of our home.
“The accounts are frozen,” I told her quietly. “The DA is filing for an arrest warrant. It should be signed by this afternoon.”
Lorraine didn't look up from her book. She simply nodded. “Good.”
Meanwhile, across the city, Brooke’s reality was collapsing at terminal velocity.
She was sitting in a high-end coffee shop in Highland Park, attempting to purchase a latte to maintain the illusion of normalcy for her wealthy friend she was staying with.
She swiped her debit card.
DECLINED.
She frowned, pulling out a backup credit card—one she had secretly opened using her friend’s address.
DECLINED.
The barista looked at her with a mixture of pity and annoyance. “Do you have another form of payment, ma'am?”
Brooke felt the blood drain from her face. She stepped away from the counter, pulling out her phone. She logged into her mobile banking app. A bright red banner flashed across the top of the screen: ACCOUNT SUSPENDED. PLEASE CONTACT YOUR FINANCIAL INSTITUTION OR LAW ENFORCEMENT.
She stumbled out of the coffee shop, her chest heaving with panic. The walls had completely closed in. She had no money, no husband, no house, and Julian Vance’s enforcers were officially out of patience.
Her phone vibrated in her hand. The caller ID displayed an unknown number.
She answered it, her hand shaking violently.
May you like
“Brooke,” a deep, rough voice said on the other end. It wasn't Julian Vance. It was one of his collectors. “The deadline passed. We are currently sitting outside your friend’s house in Highland Park. We see your luggage through the window. Are you coming home, or do we need to come find you?”
Brooke dropped the phone on the sidewalk. She was officially a hunted woman.
