Chapter 3 - THE TERMINAL AWAKENING
Fourteen hours later, across the Atlantic at a private boutique hotel in Mayfair, London, Everett Morrison was standing at the mahogany front desk looking like a man who had just discovered he was starring in a very bad nightmare.
"There must be some mistake," Everett said, his voice rising in panic as he slid his platinum card across the counter for the third time. "Try the backup card. The black one ending in 4092."
The desk clerk, a pristine Englishman whose expression radiated polite contempt, handed the card back with a soft click against the marble counter.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Morrison, but all three cards have been declined by the issuing institution due to a security freeze," the clerk said smoothly. "Furthermore, our management system indicates that the corporate guarantee backing your reservation has been revoked by Morrison Industries."
"Revoked?" Everett scoffed, loosening his silk tie. "That's impossible! I am Morrison Industries! Call the general manager right now!"
"Mr. Morrison, is everything alright?"
A soft, melodic voice chimed from behind him. Chloe Vance stepped up to the desk, wearing a trench coat that cost more than my first car, her blonde hair perfectly styled despite the transatlantic flight. She looked around the opulent lobby with wide, expectant eyes. "Why aren't we checking in? I'm exhausted, Everett, and I need a shower."
Everett turned to her, beads of cold sweat forming along his hairline. "Chloe, sweetheart, just... give me a second. My bank flagged the international transactions for fraud. It's a bureaucratic glitch. I just need to call my wife—my assistant—to clear it up."
He whipped out his phone, dialing my number with trembling fingers.
It rang once. Twice. Three times.
Then went straight to voicemail.
"Pick up, pick up," he muttered under his breath, dialing again.
Click.
"Hello, Everett," my voice came through the speaker, crisp, cool, and utterly devoid of the warmth he was used to hearing.
"Stella!" he hissed into the phone, stepping away from the front desk toward a quiet corner of the lobby. "What the hell is going on? My cards are frozen! The hotel is refusing our reservation! Did you mess with the accounts?"
"Oh, Everett," I replied smoothly, the sound of my kitchen clock ticking softly in the background. "Is the weather nice in London?"
He froze. A heavy, suffocating silence stretched down the phone line.
"What... what did you say?" he whispered, his voice dropping an octave.
"I asked about the weather," I repeated pleasantly. "Though, considering you're standing in Mayfair instead of heading to Heathrow for your connecting flight to Scotland, I assume it's lovely. Did Chloe like the diamond from Lumina Jewelers? Fifteen thousand dollars is quite a parting gift, don't you think?"
The color vanished from Everett's face so fast he looked like a ghost. He looked across the lobby at Chloe, who was nervously tapping her designer handbag against her knee.
"You... you knew?" he choked out.
"I knew the moment you tried to use our joint account to fund your illicit weekend getaway," I said, my tone hardening into steel. "Did you really think I wouldn't notice? Did you think I was so stupid, so desperate to keep you, that I would sit quietly in my house for four years wiping your mother's chin while you played house with your little corporate sidepiece?"
"Stella, let me explain," he stammered, panic finally breaking through his arrogant facade. "It's not what you think! Chloe just... she needed help with the transition, and the trip was a business requirement—"
"Save it for the judge, Everett."
"What judge?"
"The one handling our divorce," I said calmly. "Oh, by the way, your parents have been relocated to the Windsor Residence downtown. Don't bother calling them; I cancelled their landline access to prevent them from bothering me. And as for your office at Morrison Industries? Security is packing up your desk as we speak. Your keycard has been deactivated."
"You can't do that!" Everett roared, drawing the attention of several hotel guests nearby. "That's my company! My life!"
"It was my family's company, Everett. You were just an employee with a ring on your finger," I reminded him softly. "And that ring is currently in the garbage disposal along with the rest of the trash."
May you like
Before he could sputter another word, I hung up.
The line went dead.
