Chapter 5 - The Audit Falls
I stepped back, fully opening the apartment door. "Come in, Marcus. Since you're already here, we might as well save ourselves a trip to your lawyer's office."
Marcus hesitated, eyeing my modest living room with immediate disdain, but his pride dragged him across the threshold. Richard followed him like a man walking toward an electric chair.
"What is this nonsense?" Marcus demanded, though his voice lacked its usual booming confidence. He smelled faintly of stale cologne and panic.
I gestured to the folder sitting neatly on the kitchen table.
"Sit down."
Marcus didn't sit. He crossed his arms. "I'm not playing games with you, [Name]. You have twenty-four hours to post a retraction in the family chat, or I swear to God—"
"Or what?" I interrupted, my voice dropping an octave, sharp enough to cut glass. "You'll cut me out of your will? You'll stop inviting us to dry chicken and stale potato salad? You'll tell the family more lies about my life?"
I opened the folder and slid a single sheet of paper across the laminate tabletop.
Marcus glanced down at it. Then his eyes locked. The color drained completely from his face, leaving him looking gray and hollow.
It was an acquisition proposal. Not for Marcus's company—by my company.
"Fourteen months ago," I said calmly, "Marcus Logistics hit a severe liquidity crisis because your overseas shipping contracts fell through. To save face, you took out emergency bridge loans through secondary shell companies, using your primary real estate and your personal guarantees as collateral."
Marcus’s jaw slackened. "How... how do you know about that?"
"Because my firm bought the debt portfolio three weeks ago," I said.
The room grew so quiet you could hear the digital clock on the microwave ticking.
May you like
"You... you bought our debt?" Marcus choked out, his hands trembling as he gripped the edge of the table.
"Every single cent of it," I replied, standing up to tower over him. "As of midnight last night, I am your primary creditor. Your big house, your luxury cars, your country club membership, and the very warehouse you stand in every day? They don't belong to the bank anymore, Marcus. They belong to me."
