Chapter 5 - DESPERATE PLEAS
Three days later, Callum managed to ambush me outside the downtown branch of Northern Trust.
The autumn wind was howling down Michigan Avenue, whipping yellow leaves across the pavement. I was stepping toward my car when he stepped out from behind a concrete pillar.
He looked terrible. His hair was greasy, his designer suit wrinkled as if he had slept in it, and the arrogant bravado that had defined him for a decade was entirely stripped away.
“Zariah, please,” he begged, catching the edge of my car door before my driver could close it. “Please, just five minutes. That’s all I’m asking.”
I signaled to my driver to hold. I looked at Callum from behind my dark sunglasses, showing neither anger nor sympathy. “You have two minutes, Callum. Make them count.”
“The banks froze my cards,” he stammered, his hands shaking violently in the chill wind. “Vivienne... she locked me out of the penthouse. She hired her own lawyers, claiming the condo was a non-refundable personal gift and that she’s a victim of my corporate fraud. She won’t even return my calls!”
A bitter, dry laugh almost escaped my throat. “Did you honestly expect loyalty from a woman who helped you steal from your own wife?”
“I made a mistake, Zariah! A horrible, catastrophic mistake!” Tears welled in his eyes, tracking through the stubble on his cheeks. “I was overwhelmed by the pressure. You were always so brilliant, so capable, so entirely self-sufficient. You never needed me! When I looked at you, I felt like a boy playing at being a mogul. Vivienne made me feel... she made me feel powerful. But it was an illusion! I love you. I’ve always loved you. Don’t destroy everything we built together!”
“You didn’t build this, Callum,” I said, my voice steady, slicing through his frantic apologies like a scalpel. “I built it. You were just the charismatic face I put out front because the venture capital boys in 2014 preferred shaking hands with an affable man in an expensive suit. You forgot you were the actor, not the playwright.”
“Please,” he sobbed, dropping to one knee right there on the busy sidewalk, oblivious to the pedestrians staring at him. “If you file that civil fraud suit, the Department of Justice will look at the offshore books. I’ll go to prison, Zariah. Have mercy on me!”
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“You showed me zero mercy when you tried to make me grovel before your mistress in front of our associates,” I replied evenly. “Everett sent the settlement agreement to Arthur Sterling this morning. Sign away the shares, forfeit the Lake Forest estate, assume total liability for the Texas logistics debt, and I won't hand the audit to the U.S. Attorney. Refuse, and you can explain your accounting to a federal grand jury.”
I pulled my door shut, leaving him kneeling on the cold concrete.
