CHAPTER 5: THE METRIC OF THE RETALIATION
*CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK.*
From the server rack, Tristan’s mechanical keyboard let out three sharp, definitive chirps:
*BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.*
“Corporate execution complete, Julian,” Tristan announced, turning his display toward the foyer:
The screen displayed an automated, red-vector waterfall of systemic financial annihilation:
`TARGET ENTITY: VANCE REAL ESTATE & DEVELOPMENT CORP (AZ)`
`PRIMARY DEBT LIEN: $420,000,000.00 USD // CALL ACCELERATION: IMMEDIATE`
`HOLDING TRUSTEE: PEMBROKE-SLOAN GLOBAL FIDUCIARY`
`STATUS: 100% FORECLOSURE EXECUTED // RECEIVERSHIP: CONFIRMED`
`ASSETS SEIZED: 14 COMMERCIAL TOWERS, 6 RESIDENTIAL COMMUNITIES, 2 GOLF CLUBS`
`PERSONAL GUARANTOR: ALISTAIR M. VANCE (ASSETS FROZEN)`
`REMAINING NET LIQUID WORTH: $0.00 USD`
“Your bank accounts in New York and London have just been zeroed out, Alistair,” Tristan said, tossing a cold, half-empty can of Red Bull onto the floorboards:
“Your commercial paper was bought at ninety cents on the dollar two hours ago. We called the margin notes thirty seconds after the door blew.”
“The cars in your garage belong to Pembroke Fleet Management.”
“The watch on your wrist belongs to the liquidation trustee.”
“And as of zero-one-hundred hours…”
Tristan pointed his thumb toward the shattered front arch:
“…the house you are currently bleeding in… belongs in fee-simple absolute to your daughter, Paisley Vance.”
Alistair let out an un-human, animalistic shriek from the bottom of his lungs:
*“NOOOOOOOOOOO!”*
He lunged across the marble floor, his hands hooked into claws, dragging his shredded trousers through the broken glass as he reached toward my feet:
“Madeline! Madeline, tell them to stop! You’re my wife! We took vows before God! You can’t let your brothers destroy my family! My mother… my mother will have a stroke!”
“Your mother,” Roman Pembroke said quietly, checking his pocket watch with clinical precision, “is currently in a federal transport van on Interstate Ten.”
“She was intercepted at the private aviation terminal in Tucson twenty minutes ago.”
“She was attempting to board a Gulfstream registered to a Panamanian front company, carrying six million dollars in bearer bonds and three altered passports.”
Roman snapped his pocket watch shut:
*CLINK.*
“She will be processed at the United States Disciplinary Barracks at Fort Huachuca before dawn.”
“Capital treason under Article Three of the United States Constitution.”
“Conspiracy to compromise strategic national defense infrastructure under Title Forty-Two.”
“And four counts of attempted aggravated kidnapping of a federal sovereign lineal heir.”
Roman looked at Alistair:
“There will be no bail.”
“There will be no appellate review.”
“There will be no country club prison in Texas.”
“Your mother will spend the remainder of her natural life in an eight-by-ten subterranean concrete cell forty feet beneath the desert, discovering what genuine poverty feels like when the lights go out.”
