Chapter 11 - The rain on the pavement
The damp night air of the city hit Ethan Mercer like a physical slap the moment the heavy glass service doors locked shut behind him. He stood on the cracked concrete of the alleyway, clutching the flimsy cardboard box against his chest with trembling arms. Inside were a few designer watches, an imported fountain pen, and a silver-framed photograph of him cutting the ribbon for Calloway House. Less than two hours ago, he was the undisputed master of this glass monument, sipping aged scotch and sneering down at a tired old man in mud-spattered boots. Now, grease from a nearby delivery dumpster dripped into a dark puddle right next to his Italian leather loafers.
A cold drizzle began to fall, soaking through his tailored blazer. Ethan whipped around, glaring at the reinforced metal exit door. He banged his fist against the reinforced steel, the dull thuds swallowed entirely by the roar of downtown traffic. "Open this door! Arthur, you senile coward, open this door right now!" he screamed, his voice cracking into high-pitched hysteria. Nobody answered. The electronic keypad above the handle glowed a steady, mocking crimson. The building did not recognize his voice, his fingerprint, or his existence anymore.
His cell phone vibrated violently against his hip. Ethan fumbled the phone out of his pocket, nearly dropping it into the oily puddle beneath his feet. The screen flashed with a blocked number from an offshore area code. His heart seized in his throat. It was Julian Sterling, the ruthless venture capitalist who had fronted forty million dollars under the table to finance Ethan’s aggressive corporate coup. Ethan pressed the device against his ear with cold fingers. "Julian... listen to me, there was a minor complication with the trust," Ethan stammered, teeth chattering uncontrollably. Julian’s voice came through like chilled razor blades cutting through ice. "I don’t care about complications, Ethan. The audit team arrived at our Cayman account ten minutes ago. Every transfer you signed using Frank Calloway’s forged company seal has been reversed by federal authorities. You have six hours to wire back my principal, or the men outside your apartment won't be carrying cardboard boxes." The line went dead before Ethan could scream.
