Chapter 2 - The Declined Cards
The morning sun rose over the city, casting a harsh, blinding glare across the snow-covered streets.
I had already settled Sophie into a luxury suite at the Ritz-Carlton, ordering her an extravagant room-service breakfast.
She sat on the plush king-sized bed, wrapping her hands around a mug of hot chocolate, looking bewildered by the opulent surroundings.
I told her that my small business had finally landed a massive contract, a half-truth to shield her from the incoming shockwave.
I just wanted her to feel safe, warm, and entirely out of the blast radius of what I was about to do.
Miles away, in the affluent suburbs, the Collins family was waking up to what they thought would be a perfect Christmas morning.
I sat at my terminal, watching the real-time alerts from the corporate accounting software.
At exactly eight o'clock, the first red notification flashed across my screen.
Martin Collins had attempted to purchase a five-thousand-dollar vintage Rolex using his corporate expense card.
The transaction was instantly declined.
A minute later, Claire’s younger brother, David, tried to put a down payment on a Porsche at a holiday dealership event.
Declined.
Over the next twenty minutes, my screen lit up like a Christmas tree as forty-seven different corporate cards were swiped and aggressively rejected across three different states.
They were at luxury boutiques, five-star brunch spots, and high-end electronics stores, all discovering simultaneously that their infinite well of money had dried up.
I could almost visualize the confusion turning into mounting panic.
My private burner phone rang, displaying a frantic call from the accounting department's automated emergency line.
They had been flooded with screaming complaints from the Collins family, all demanding to speak to the IT department to fix the "glitch."
I routed all their incoming calls to a dead-end voicemail box featuring hold music.
Then, I opened the security camera feed for the local Whitaker Construction branch office in the suburbs.
I watched as Martin Collins’ luxury SUV aggressively hopped the curb and parked in the fire lane.
He stormed toward the glass doors, his face red with holiday champagne and fresh fury, demanding to see the regional manager.
He didn't realize that I had upgraded the security protocols overnight.
The camera zoomed in on Martin screaming at the electronic lock, shaking the door handles like a madman.
Two armed security guards stepped out from the side entrance, their hands resting cautiously on their belts.
One of the guards held up a printed photograph of Martin's face with a bold red line crossing it out.
The guard pointed to the street, silently mouthing the word "leave."
May you like
Martin's face contorted in absolute shock as he pulled out his cell phone and dialed the one number he thought he could control.
My personal cell phone began to ring.
