Chapter 3 - The Corporate Execution
Back at Manhattan Memorial Hospital, the sterile white corridors felt suddenly colder.
Derek Hartley stood frozen in the middle of the maternity hallway, his polished designer shoes glued to the slick floor, his mouth working silently like a stranded fish. Beside him, Brittany clutched her expensive leather handbag so tightly her knuckles turned white.
“Derek... did you hear what he said?” Brittany whispered, her voice trembling with rising panic. “Moretti Real Estate... that’s... that’s the holding group that bought out your firm’s debt portfolio last month! If he owns the debt, he owns the senior partners! He owns you!”
“Shut up, Brittany!” Derek snapped, his face flushed bright red, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. His arrogant facade had completely evaporated, replaced by the naked, squealing terror of a man who realized he had just kicked a sleeping dragon in its own lair.
He pulled out his smartphone with shaking fingers, swiping frantically through his contacts until he found the direct line of Senior Partner Harrison Vance.
It rang three times. Then a cold, clipped voice answered.
“Hartley,” Vance said without a greeting. “Where are you? You were supposed to be closing the Braxton contract tonight.”
“Mr. Vance! Listen to me, sir, there’s been an emergency,” Derek blurted out, his voice cracking into a high-pitched squeak. “My... my ex-girlfriend, she had a baby, and some lunatic impersonating Luca Moretti just walked in and—and forged the birth certificate—!”
“Shut your mouth, Derek,” Vance interrupted. The CEO’s voice sounded like grinding ice.
“Sir?” Derek stammered.
“An hour ago, Moretti’s chief legal counsel served our corporate office with a complete restructuring notice,” Vance said, every word dripping with venom. “Our revolving credit line has been called in. Immediate settlement in full. Fifty million dollars due by 9:00 AM tomorrow, or Moretti seizes our assets and liquidates the firm.”
Derek’s knees buckled. He grabbed the edge of the nurse’s station desk to keep from collapsing. “Fifty... fifty million? But our firm is worth—!”
“Our firm was worth something until you decided to make an enemy of Luca Moretti,” Vance snarled. “Pack your desk tonight, Derek. Don't bother coming in tomorrow. Your security badge has already been deactivated.”
Click.
The line went dead.
Derek stared at the black screen of his phone as if it had turned into a venomous snake. The high-rise apartment, the tailored suits, the company car, the prestige of being a rising star in Manhattan real estate—all of it gone, obliterated in less than five minutes because of a petty, cruel choice he made in a hospital hallway.
Brittany stared at him, her eyes wide with horror and sudden, bitter disgust. She took a slow step backward, away from him.
“You did this,” Brittany hissed, her voice shaking with rage. “You and your arrogance. You couldn't just keep your mouth shut and let the girl go. You had to humiliate her, and now you’ve ruined us both.”
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“Brittany, wait, let’s talk—!” Derek reached out for her.
“Don't touch me!” she screamed, slapping his hand away before turning on her high heels and storming down the hallway toward the elevators, leaving Derek standing alone in the empty corridor, staring into a future made of ash.
