"The stock just plummeted another twelve percent," Marcus stated, his eyes fixed on the glowing screen of his tablet.
I shoved my leather chair back. The wheels scraped harshly against the hardwood floor. "Then issue a press release. Tell the media the downtown project is fully funded and ahead of schedule."
"It is not fully funded, Julian," Marcus replied, his voice entirely flat. "The steel vendors walked off the construction site an hour ago. The foreman is threatening to talk to the local news."
I slammed my palm against the polished mahogany desk. "I told you to clear their invoices this morning!"
"With what capital?" Marcus looked up, his expression hollow. "The Cayman accounts are locked by the international trade commission. The European logistics hubs are liquidating their assets. We have exactly four thousand dollars in operational liquidity."
"Call the legal team," I ordered, loosening my silk tie. "Tell them to file an emergency injunction against this Apex shell company. They are suffocating my supply chain."
"Apex already filed an injunction against us," Marcus countered. He tossed a thick legal document onto the desk. "They hold the original patent for the micro-routing software. Every time our servers process a transaction, we are committing corporate espionage."
"That is impossible," I snarled, picking up the document. The text blurred together. "Thorne Enterprises owns that software."
"We used it," Marcus corrected. "We never owned it. The patent was registered to Apex three years ago."
The double doors of my office swung open. Chloe marched in, holding up her phone like a weapon.
"Julian, the jeweler on Fifth Avenue just humiliated me," she complained, stopping right next to Marcus. "My black card was declined. Twice."
I rubbed my temples, a sharp headache pulsing behind my eyes. "I am in the middle of a crisis, Chloe."
"I don't care about your meetings," she whined, tapping her stiletto against the floor. "I need fifty thousand transferred to my personal account right now. The engagement party is next week, and the caterers need their deposit."
"Read the room," Marcus muttered, adjusting his glasses.
Chloe turned on him, her eyes flashing. "Excuse me? You are just an accountant. Do not speak to me."
I stood up, pointing a rigid finger at the door. "Get out, Chloe."
She blinked, her perfect pout faltering. "What did you say to me?"
"I said get out!" I roared, kicking the metal trash can beside my desk. It clattered loudly against the glass wall.
Instead of flinching or crying, Chloe rolled her eyes. A harsh, mocking sound escaped her throat.
"You are acting like a poor person, Julian," she scoffed, crossing her arms. "It is extremely unattractive. Call me when your card actually works."
She spun around and marched out, leaving the heavy doors wide open.
I collapsed back into my chair. "Fire the European manager. He clearly sold us out to this Apex firm."
"He already quit," Marcus noted, packing his tablet into his briefcase. "And he took the entire overseas logistics team with him. Apex hired them at midnight."
I paced a short line behind my desk. "Who is running Apex? I want a name. I want a face. I want to know who is trying to steal my empire."
Marcus reached into his jacket pocket. He pulled out a small, heavy black card and tossed it onto the glass table.
"I do not have a name," Marcus said. "I have a direct phone number. The regional director at First National gave it to me ten minutes ago."
I stared at the card. A single string of digits printed in stark red ink.
"Call them," Marcus instructed, snapping his briefcase shut. "You have no leverage left. If you do not secure a cash injection by tomorrow morning, the board of directors will remove you."
"I built this company from the ground up," I warned, my voice dropping into a dangerous register. "They cannot remove me."
"You built a house of cards," Marcus said smoothly. "And someone just pulled out the bottom row. Make the call, Julian."
Marcus walked out, leaving me entirely alone in the sprawling penthouse office.
The silence pressed in on me, heavy and suffocating. The monitors on the wall flashed red, tracking the continuous freefall of Thorne Enterprises' stock.
I walked over to the desk. My hands shook slightly as I reached for the secure red landline sitting on the far corner.
I picked up the receiver. The plastic felt cold against my palm.
I punched in the numbers from the black card.
The line rang once. Twice.
A sharp click echoed through the speaker.
"Apex Industries."
The voice was metallic, stripped of all humanity by a heavy digital filter. It sounded like grinding gears.
"This is Julian Thorne," I said, forcing my tone into a commanding register. "Put your CEO on the line."
"You are speaking to the CEO."
I tightened my grip on the red receiver. My knuckles stretched taut, the skin turning a sickly white. My fingernails dug into the plastic casing.
"You have made a very dangerous enemy today," I threatened, leaning over the mahogany surface.
"I checked the market boards, Julian," the disguised voice replied. "You do not look very dangerous right now."
The distorted, rhythmic tone gnawed at my pride.
"You hijacked my supply chain," I accused. "You filed a fraudulent injunction against my routing software and bribed my logistics team."
"The patent is legally registered to Apex," the voice countered. "You used it without permission. That is intellectual property theft. The logistics team simply preferred a company that could actually make payroll."
"It is a misunderstanding," I said quickly, shifting my strategy. "One we can resolve without dragging this through federal courts."
"I am listening."
I swallowed hard. My throat felt like sandpaper. "Release thirty percent of my operational cash flow. Call off the bank hold on the Cayman accounts."
"No."
"Listen to me," I pleaded, my voice cracking slightly. "If the downtown project fails, Thorne Enterprises goes bankrupt. My assets lose all their value. You get nothing."
"I hold the debt notes," the voice replied smoothly. "If you go bankrupt, I trigger the liquidation clause. I get everything."
I pressed my forehead against the cool glass of my office window, staring down at the city streets below.
"Twenty percent," I bargained, sweat beading on my forehead. "Just give me enough to pay the steel vendors. I will sign over the European hubs permanently. You can keep them."
"I already own the European hubs."
"Then what do you want?!" I screamed, slamming my free hand against the glass. "You want equity? You want a board seat? Name your price!"
Silence stretched across the line, thick and absolute.
"I want you to experience the exact amount of charity you gave your ex-wife," the voice finally said.
My blood ran cold. The words hit me like a physical blow.
"Victoria?" I muttered. "What does she have to do with this?"
"She walked away with five hundred thousand dollars and a shell company," the voice noted. "You are going to walk away with absolutely nothing."
"Who are you?" I demanded, my heart hammering violently against my ribs. "Are you working for her? Did she hire you to do this?"
"You handed over the keys to your own kingdom, Julian. You just forgot to check the locks."
I squeezed the phone until the plastic groaned in protest. "Please. I am begging you. Thirty percent. Just unfreeze thirty percent of the cash flow. I will do whatever you want."
"See you at the merger signing ceremony tomorrow night at eight."
