Chapter 6 - The Final Foreclosure
Alexander dragged himself up onto his knees, grabbing the edge of a marble console table to support his trembling frame. Desperation made his movements erratic, his eyes wild with a delusion born of pure terror.
"If you own Helios, then you can forgive the debt!" he cried, a sick, pathetic hope suddenly lighting his hollow face. "Emily, you own Whitmore Holdings now! We can merge everything! We can announce to the press that this was all a strategic corporate consolidation! We can get married at City Hall tomorrow, and I’ll run operations while you control the capital!"
I stared at him with profound, unadulterated pity. Even after having his entire life dismantled around him, his colossal narcissism still convinced him that he had something of value to offer.
"You really don't get it, do you?" I sighed, shaking my head slowly. "You think this is a romantic comedy where the hero realizes his mistake and returns to the girl next door?"
I set my glass down and tapped the screen of my tablet. A series of legal execution orders and corporate seizure decrees appeared on the display.
"At nine o'clock tomorrow morning, the United States Bankruptcy Court will formally approve the complete Chapter 7 liquidation of Whitmore Holdings," I told him, each word deliberate and freezing cold. "Every desk, every patent, every client list, and every server will be transferred directly to Vanguard Heritage for zero dollars through our senior creditor lien."
Alexander's jaw dropped open. "And what happens to me?"
"You are personally liable for sixty-five million dollars in secondary guarantees that Helios declined to absorb," I said calmly. "Your personal credit rating is zero. The IRS has already placed tax liens against your remaining bank balances for unpaid corporate payroll taxes. You don't have an office, Alexander. You don't have a company. You don't even have a reputation."
He lunged forward with sudden fury, his fists clenched as if he intended to strike me. "You ruined me! You calculated this from the day you left the penthouse! You're a monster, Emily!"
Before he could take two steps toward me, the library door flew open. Marcus and another burly private security officer moved with terrifying speed. Within two seconds, Alexander was pinned face-down against the cold marble, his arm twisted behind his back in a firm, non-lethal submission hold.
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"Get your hands off me!" Alexander screamed, spitting onto the floor. "I’m Alexander Whitmore! I built this city!"
"You built nothing," I said, looking down at his pinned form without a trace of anger. "Marcus, call the NYPD transit unit. Have Mr. Whitmore removed from the private drive and escorted to the municipal homeless intake shelter on Thirty-Ninth Street."
