Chapter 4 - THE COLLAPSE OF AN EMPIRE
The following Monday, Everett flew back to Atlanta—not in first class, but in a middle-row coach seat he had to charge to a maxed-out emergency credit card he had forgotten he possessed.
He didn't bother going to the estate. He knew the smart-home locks had been reprogrammed, his biometric access deleted, and his wardrobe thrown into contractor-grade trash bags left on the front porch.
Instead, he went straight to the corporate headquarters of Morrison Industries, expecting to bully his way past reception and demand answers from the board.
He didn't even make it past the security turnstiles.
Two burly security guards blocked his path, their arms crossed over their chests.
"Mr. Morrison," the head guard said flatly. "Orders from the board of directors and the primary majority shareholder, Mrs. Stella Norris. You are prohibited from entering the premises."
"I am the CEO!" Everett shouted, slamming his hand against the glass partition. "You can't lock me out of my own building!"
"You were stripped of your title on Friday, sir," a voice chimed from behind him.
Everett whipped around.
Standing there was Marcus Vance, holding a thick manila envelope and flanked by two federal process servers. Marcus offered a cold, professional smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Mr. Morrison, I presume?" Marcus asked, stepping closer.
"Who the hell are you?" Everett snarled.
"Marcus Vance. Legal counsel for Mrs. Stella Norris." Marcus slid the manila envelope directly into Everett’s chest, forcing him to catch it or let it hit the floor. "These are your divorce papers, along with a notice of federal investigation into corporate asset misappropriation, tax fraud, and breach of fiduciary duty regarding the transfer of trust funds."
Everett stared at the envelope as if it were a venomous snake. "This is insane. She can't do this. We have a marriage! We have a life!"
"You had a marriage," Marcus corrected gently. "Now you have a very expensive lawsuit and a remarkably small amount of time to find new living arrangements. Your personal bank accounts have been sequestered pending forensic audit, and your company car has already been repossessed."
"Where am I supposed to go?" Everett cried out, his voice cracking with sheer desperation as the reality of his total annihilation finally sank in.
May you like
Marcus turned toward the glass doors, offering a parting glance over his shoulder.
"I hear the Windsor Residence has lovely extended-stay rates," Marcus said smoothly. "Though I believe your mother is already quite tired of listening to you complain."
