Chapter 4 - The Sunrise Eviction
Julian didn't sleep. He spent the next five hours pacing the freezing penthouse, aggressively stabbing at dead touchscreens and pacing in front of the unyielding elevator doors. Chloe had eventually started crying around 3:00 AM, wrapping herself in a duvet and retreating to the bedroom.
By the time the first rays of dawn broke over the Seattle skyline, casting a grayish light through the windows, Julian was disheveled. His tie was gone, his hair was messy, and his mind was racing with terrifying possibilities. Had the board turned on him? Was there a hostile takeover happening?
At exactly 6:00 AM, the electronic deadbolt on the stairwell door clicked.
Julian spun around, his fists clenched. "It's about damn time! Whoever is out there, you are all fired! Do you hear me? Fired!"
The heavy door swung open.
It wasn't Briggs. It wasn't his usual security team.
Five men in tailored, dark grey suits stepped into the penthouse. They moved with frightening military precision, fanning out across the room. They didn't look like hotel bouncers; they looked like private military contractors.
Behind them walked Marcus Vance, the General Manager of the resort. Marcus had been Julian’s right-hand man for five years.
"Marcus!" Julian roared, stepping forward. "What the hell is the meaning of this? Why was I locked in my own penthouse? Call the police and have these men removed immediately!"
Marcus didn't flinch. His face, usually a mask of customer-service warmth, was totally impassive. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a thick envelope, and held it out to Julian.
"I can't do that, Mr. Vance," Marcus said, his voice terrifyingly calm.
"I am your boss!" Julian screamed, swatting the envelope away. It hit the floor, spilling official legal documents onto the Persian rug.
"You were my boss, Julian," Marcus corrected, adjusting his cuffs. "As of midnight, Lumière Management was dissolved in an emergency bankruptcy filing. You no longer operate this hotel. You no longer have access to corporate funds. And as of this morning, you are trespassing on private property."
Julian froze. The words didn't compute. "Bankruptcy? That's impossible. We have hundreds of millions in assets—"
"You have hundreds of millions in debt," Marcus interrupted. "Vanguard called in the master loan. You missed the one-hour cure period because, well... your phones were turned off."
Julian’s eyes darted to the men in the grey suits. "Who are they? Who authorized this?"
"Aethelgard Holdings," Marcus said. "The true owners of the property. They have activated an immediate eviction protocol for you and your... guest."
Chloe appeared in the bedroom doorway, her mascara smeared, clutching the duvet. "Julian? What's happening?"
Julian dropped to his knees, his hands trembling as he picked up the scattered papers from the floor. His eyes scanned the heavy legal jargon, desperately looking for a loophole, a mistake, a joke.
Then, his eyes landed on the signature at the bottom of the eviction notice.
It wasn't a faceless Swiss banker.
It was a bold, elegant cursive signature he had seen signing checks for groceries, signing birthday cards, and signing their marriage license.
Elena Aethelgard Sterling
CEO & Sole Proprietor, Aethelgard Holdings.
May you like
"No," Julian whispered, all the blood draining from his face. "No, no, no... Elena is broke. She's just an interior designer..."
"Ms. Sterling requests you vacate the premises in five minutes," Marcus said, checking his watch. "Or these gentlemen will physically carry you out to the curb. You are permitted to take only the clothes on your back. Everything else in this penthouse—including the emerald currently around the young lady's neck—belongs to the Sterling estate."
