Chapter 4 - The Ultimatum
“Arthur!” Dad’s voice roared through the speaker, frantic and stripped of its usual corporate arrogance. “What in God’s name is happening with the accounts? Our cards are blocked! We’re standing in the lobby of the Crillon and they’re threatening to throw us out!”
I didn’t speak immediately. I listened to the heavy, ragged sound of his breathing, picturing the exact moment panic replaced entitlement in his chest.
“Arthur, answer me right now!” Mom’s voice piped in from the background, shrill and desperate. “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is? Fix this instant or so help me—!”
“Or what?” I interrupted, my voice calm, cold, and entirely devoid of the warmth they expected from their dutiful son.
The line went dead silent.
“A-Arthur?” Dad stammered, his bravado instantly evaporating. “Son... listen, we’ve had a long flight. There was a misunderstanding with the bank software. You know how these automated systems get. Just log into the portal and lift the restriction.”
“There’s no misunderstanding, Dad,” I said softly, staring at the IV bag dripping clear liquid into my vein. “I read the trust ledger. I saw the medical reserve transfer. One hundred and eighty thousand dollars wired straight to Chloe’s personal account. The exact amount needed for a month of luxury in Europe, funded by the money meant for my future.”
On the other end of the line, Chloe let out a sharp gasp. “You’re spying on my private accounts? That’s illegal! Dad, call the police! Arrest him!”
“Shut up, Chloe!” Dad barked at her before turning his attention back to the phone, his tone shifting into oily, manipulative sweetness. “Arthur, listen to reason. That money wasn't stolen—it was a... a temporary liquidity adjustment! We were going to pay it back as soon as the Paris real estate deal closed. We’re family, son. Blood is thicker than water.”
“Is that why you didn’t answer the hospital’s calls?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave. “When I was flatlining on the stage? When the surgeons were cutting open my skull to stop a brain hemorrhage? Did you check your phone while you were pouring champagne at Charles de Gaulle?”
A heavy, suffocating pause stretched across the transatlantic connection.
“You... you survived, didn’t you?” Dad mumbled defensively. “You’re fine! Why are you making such a big deal out of a missed phone call? You always loved playing the victim!”
“I am done playing,” I said. “Here are your new terms. You have twenty-four hours to catch a flight back to New York. You will walk into Vincent Vance’s office, sign over full ownership of Mercer Development’s primary voting shares to me, and publicly confess to the financial fraud on record.”
“Are you out of your mind?!” Dad shrieked. “Sign over the company?! I built that empire with my bare hands!”
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“And I saved it from bankruptcy twice,” I replied evenly. “Refuse, and tomorrow morning I file criminal embezzlement charges against Chloe, freeze every personal asset you own, and put Mercer Holdings into immediate bankruptcy liquidation. You’ll be sleeping on park benches in Paris by Tuesday.”
I tapped the screen and hung up.
