Chapter 4 - The Monday Morning Massacre
Monday morning arrived with a pale, cold sun rising over the Chicago Loop.
The glass-and-steel monolith of Morrison Global headquarters stood imposing against the autumn sky. By 7:30 AM, hundreds of employees were bustling through the revolving doors, swiping their security badges at the sleek marble turnstiles.
At 7:45 AM, a sleek red Porsche pulled sharply into the executive loading zone, cutting off a yellow cab with a screech of tires.
Brendan stepped out of the sports car. He was wearing an impeccably tailored navy Tom Ford suit, though his bloodshot eyes and the dark purple circles beneath them betrayed that he hadn't slept a wink. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for Jessica, who emerged looking entirely confident in an emerald green designer dress, carrying an expensive leather handbag.
“Don’t worry, baby,” Brendan said, his voice loud enough for the gathering crowd of junior analysts to hear. “It’s just an IT glitch and some rogue posturing by old Arthur Vance. The board knows who brings in the revenue. By noon, Vance will be cleared out of his office, and I’m promoting you to Director of Communications.”
Jessica smiled, linking her arm through his. “I know, sweetie. Your mother said the same thing this morning. Cassidy is just throwing a desperate tantrum because she knows she’s nothing without you.”
Brendan smoothed his tie, sneering as he walked through the towering glass revolving doors into the grand atrium. Several employees stopped and whispered, but Brendan ignored them, striding toward the private executive turnstile reserved exclusively for the Chief Executive Officer.
He pulled his gold-embossed executive pass from his pocket and tapped it against the scanner.
*BZZZZT.*
A harsh red light flashed. The glass barriers did not part.
Brendan frowned, tapping it again, harder this time. “Come on, piece of junk.”
*BZZZZT.*
“Hey! Security!” Brendan barked, snapping his fingers toward the security desk. “The VIP turnstile is malfunctioning. Clear this gate immediately.”
From behind the marble desk, Marcus slowly stood up. He was flanked by four burly security officers wearing dark tactical suits with silver *Aegis Security* pins on their lapels. Marcus walked over, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of stone.
“Good morning, Mr. Morrison,” Marcus said evenly.
“Marcus, thank God,” Brendan scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Fire whoever is running the front desk today. My badge isn't reading. Jessica and I have an emergency 8:00 AM executive meeting.”
“Your badge isn't malfunctioning, Mr. Morrison,” Marcus said, making no move to open the gate. “Your credentials have been permanently revoked.”
The atrium went dead silent. Dozens of junior executives, vice presidents, and administrative assistants paused mid-stride, their eyes darting between Marcus and the CEO.
Brendan’s face flushed a deep, violent crimson. “What did you just say to me? Do you know who I am? My name is on the outside of this damn building!”
“Actually, sir,” Marcus replied, his voice calm and carrying across the vaulted ceiling, “the building is owned by Riverside Real Estate Holdings, a wholly owned subsidiary of Aegis Horizon. You do not hold an active lease, an active employment contract, or security clearance to enter these premises.”
Jessica stepped forward, her voice shrill and indignant. “Listen to me, you glorified mall cop! You can’t talk to Brendan like this! He is the CEO of Morrison Global! Open this gate right now, or I will personally make sure you never work in this city again!”
Marcus didn't even look at her. He simply raised two fingers.
Two armed security guards stepped forward, standing shoulder-to-shoulder in front of the turnstile, their hands resting deliberately at their belts.
“Mr. Morrison, Ms. Taylor,” Marcus said coldly. “You have sixty seconds to exit the lobby voluntarily. If you refuse, you will be physically removed and arrested for criminal trespass.”
“You’re out of your mind!” Brendan roared, lunging forward to shove through the gate.
Before he could take two steps, the two security guards grabbed him by the arms, twisting his limbs behind his back with practiced, effortless efficiency. Brendan let out an undignified yelp of pain as his cheek was pressed hard against the cold marble pillar.
“Get your hands off him!” Jessica shrieked, backing away in terror as employees began pulling out their smartphones, filming the entire humiliation in glorious high-definition video. “Brendan! Call the police! Call your lawyers!”
“I am calling the police,” Marcus said, pulling a two-way radio from his belt. “To report two trespassers in the main lobby.”
“Let me go!” Brendan sputtered, his Tom Ford jacket bunching up ungracefully around his neck. “Arthur Vance is behind this! Tell that senile old bastard I’ll see him in federal court! Where is he?! Where is Cassidy?!”
At that moment, the private express elevator chimed softly.
The crowd turned.
The elevator doors slid open, and Arthur Vance stepped out into the lobby. But he wasn’t alone. Surrounding him were three senior federal auditors from the Securities and Exchange Commission, flanked by two forensic accountants carrying heavy blue legal binders.
Arthur stopped just three feet from where Brendan was being pinned against the marble. He looked down at the struggling young man with an expression of profound pity.
“Cassidy is already in the boardroom, Brendan,” Arthur said softly. “And she’s waiting for the board to review the thirty-two million dollars you embezzled from the employee pension trust to finance your mother’s vanity projects.”
May you like
Arthur glanced at the security guards. “Escort him to the freight elevator. The board has granted him exactly ten minutes to plead his case before the criminal referrals are sent to the Department of Justice.”
***
