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Chapter 492
Chapter 492:
“Hello?” he barked, his voice shaking.
“Mr. Beasley.” A cold, mechanical voice came through the line — his senior account manager at Goldman Sachs. “This is a courtesy call to inform you that the Compton Group has officially withdrawn all letters of credit backing your corporate accounts p>
Richard’s stomach plummeted. “What? No — that’s impossible. Cole wouldn’t do that without a board vote p>
“It is already done, sir,” the banker replied without a trace of sympathy. “Consequently, your margin accounts are severely over-leveraged. We are issuing an immediate margin call. You have two hours to deposit fifty million dollars in liquid capital, or we will begin liquidating your assets p>
The line went dead.
Richard stared at the receiver. His hand was trembling so violently he dropped it. It dangled by its cord, swinging slowly back and forth.
Before he could even begin to process the catastrophe, his personal cell phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out. An automated alert from Bank of America — all his short-term commercial loans had been called in due to a breach of covenant.
“We are ruined,” Richard whispered, his eyes wide with horror. His knees gave out and he collapsed heavily into the leather armchair. “Cole is slaughtering us. He is pulling every single cent p>
Susan gasped, dropping her ice pack. “Richard, do something! Call the lawyers p>
At that exact moment, the heavy oak doors of the living room swung open.
𝘓𝗮𝘵𝗲𝘀𝗍 𝖼𝘩𝗮𝗉𝘁𝖾𝗋𝘴 𝗈𝗻
The head butler stumbled into the room, his face completely drained of color. He looked like a man who had just witnessed a catastrophe.
“Sir,” he stammered, pointing a trembling finger toward the front of the house. “The FBI. They are at the gates. They have bolt cutters. They say they have a federal warrant to seize all offshore tax documents and corporate hard drives p>
Richard stopped breathing.
The financial ruin was devastating enough — but the FBI meant federal prison. Easton Hahn’s legal guillotine had dropped in perfect synchrony with Cole’s financial strike.
Footsteps sounded on the grand staircase.
Alycia descended slowly, wearing a loose, expensive cashmere maternity dress. She had been hiding in her room since the incident in the dining room, entirely unaware of the apocalypse unfolding below.
“Why is everyone yelling?” she asked, rubbing her forehead. “I have a headache p>
Susan looked at her daughter. A flash of desperate, manic hope ignited in her eyes. She ignored the pain in her burned ankle, scrambled off the sofa, and seized Alycia by the arms, her fingernails digging into the soft cashmere.
“Alycia, you have to go to him!” Susan screamed, shaking her violently. “Cole is destroying everything! The FBI is outside! You need to get to the Compton building right now and stop him p>
Alycia’s eyes went wide. She looked at her father, who sat paralyzed in his chair.
“Mom, are you serious? You saw the way he looked at me in that hospital! He is going to figure out I lied about the medical report! He already hates me p>