Chapter 3 - The St. Barts Wake-Up CallIn a private cliffside villa overlooking the turquoise waters of St. Barts, the sun was shining brightly, completely unaware of the catastrophe unfolding in New York.
Sophia Thorne stretched luxuriously under white linen sheets, her phone buzzing incessantly on the nightstand. She groaned, pulling a silk pillow over her head.
“Malcolm,” she mumbled sleepily. “Your phone is ringing. Turn it off. You said you were in Tokyo.”
Malcolm’s side of the bed was empty.
Sophia sat up, tossing the pillow aside. The villa was silent except for the crash of the waves. She wrapped a designer robe around herself and walked out onto the balcony.
Malcolm wasn't on the sun deck. He wasn't by the infinity pool.
He was standing at the edge of the stone terrace, his phone glued to his ear, staring blankly at the horizon. His face had lost all color.
“What do you mean, frozen?” Malcolm screamed into the receiver, his voice cracking with absolute terror. “Call the bank! Tell them I am Malcolm Vance! Tell them—what do you mean arrest warrant?!”
Sophia froze. The casual elegance she cultivated for her two million followers vanished in an instant. She stepped out onto the cool stone. “Malcolm? What’s happening? Is it Tokyo?”
Malcolm slowly lowered the phone. His hands were shaking so violently he could barely hold the device. He looked at Sophia as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Tokyo was a lie,” Malcolm whispered, his voice hollow. “There is no merger. There is no money. Elena... Elena took everything.”
Sophia’s eyes widened in sudden, cold fury. “What do you mean she took everything? What about the Soho apartment? What about the consulting fees? Malcolm, my accounts are tied to your corporate structure!”
May you like
“They’re frozen,” Malcolm said, a manic laugh escaping his lips. “Everything is frozen. We are broke.”
Sophia stared at him for three seconds. Then, without a word, she turned on her heel, walked back into the villa, and began throwing her designer clothes into a Louis Vuitton suitcase.
