Chapter 4 - The Freeze
The boardroom fell into a suffocating silence as the door clicked shut behind the venture capitalists.
"Greg," Grant barked, slamming his fist onto the table so hard the water glasses rattled. "Get the legal team on the phone right now! Sue Vance Global for breach of contract! File an emergency injunction to restore API access!"
"We can't, Grant," Greg said, his hands trembling over his keyboard.
"What do you mean we can't?!"
"Look at Section 14.2 of the Vance integration contract," Greg muttered, turning the monitor toward Grant. "The morality clause. If any executive officer of Whitmore Tech is implicated in an act of moral turpitude or violent felony, Vance Global holds the unilateral right of immediate termination with zero liability."
"Who drafted that clause?!" Grant screamed, his face turning an ugly, mottled red.
"You did," Greg replied quietly. "Five years ago. When Arthur Vance gave you your first two million dollars in seed capital. You signed whatever he put in front of you."
Grant sank back into his chair, running both hands through his hair. The panic was finally breaking through his arrogant facade.
"The operating cash," Grant muttered, his eyes darting around the room. "How much liquid runway do we have in the Chase commercial account?"
"Two point one million," Greg said. "Enough to float payroll for maybe three weeks if we freeze all marketing."
"Transfer one million to my personal account right now," Grant ordered. "I need liquidity."
Greg typed rapidly on his keyboard. A second later, a red warning prompt flashed across his screen.
"Itâs rejected," Greg said, blinking in disbelief.
"Try it again!"
"Grant, the account is frozen. All commercial lines at Chase, Wells Fargo, and Texas Capital are locked down."
Grant pulled out his smartphone with shaking fingers and dialed his private wealth manager. He put the phone on speaker.
"David! What the hell is going on with my corporate lines?!" Grant shouted.
"Mr. Whitmore," the banker's voice sounded formal, devoid of the friendly deference Grant was used to. "We received a certified copy of an emergency restraining order and an ex parte asset freeze filed an hour ago in Dallas County District Court."
"On what grounds?!"
"A joint petition for divorce and commercial receivership filed by Mrs. Claire Vance-Whitmore," the banker answered smoothly. "All assets acquired during the marriage, including your equity holding company, have been placed into temporary trust pending the forensic audit."
Grant stared at the phone as if it were a venomous snake.
"She can't do this..." Grant whispered. "She doesn't know anything about finance. She's a nobody!"
"She's Arthur Vance's only daughter, Grant," Greg said, packing his laptop into his bag with rapid, frantic movements. "And she just cut your oxygen."
"Where are you going?!" Grant yelled at his CFO.
"I'm resigning, effective immediately," Greg said, heading for the door. "Before the SEC and the forensic auditors arrive to pick over the bones."
Vanessa grabbed Grant's arm, her perfectly manicured nails digging into his sleeve. "Grant... what about my salary? What about the penthouse lease in Uptown?"
May you like
Grant turned on her, his eyes wild with terror. "Shut up! Just shut the hell up about the penthouse!"
Vanessa recoiled, her eyes widening in shock. For the first time, she saw the reality of the man she had attached herself to: stripped of the Vance fortune, Grant Whitmore was nothing more than an empty shell drowning in debt.
