Chapter 3 - The Paper Empire
Inside the master suite of the Bel Air mansion, Spencer Albright was pouring himself a glass of twenty-year-old scotch.
Cassandra sat at the vanity mirror, applying a thick layer of designer powder to her face, her diamond earrings catching the warm light of the crystal chandelier.
"That little rat ruined my silk skirt," Cassandra hissed, tossing her makeup brush onto the marble counter. "You should have let me slap Gwen too. The nerve of that woman, grabbing your mother’s wrist."
Spencer took a slow sip of his drink, adjusting his tuxedo jacket in the mirror. He felt a strange, fleeting flicker of unease—the way Gwen had looked at him before breaking that red string bracelet—but he quickly brushed it aside. Gwen was nobody. She had no money, no family, no connections.
"Forget about Gwen," Spencer said dismissively. "The divorce papers are signed. She took the bait and left. Once the gala is over tonight, I’ll have my lawyers enforce the custody agreement to keep Hazel around. My mother wants a nanny who doesn't require a salary, and Hazel will do what she’s told."
Patricia Albright walked into the room, draped in an over-embellished gold gown that looked more expensive than it actually was. She was wearing her favorite pearl necklace, preening like royalty.
"Is everything set for the Pinnacle Gala?" Patricia asked, her sharp voice echoing off the walls. "The press better be there. I want every socialite in Beverly Hills to see Cassandra on your arm, not that pathetic charity case you married."
"The press is already lined up outside the Beverly Wilshire," Spencer said with a proud smirk. "Tonight, Lord Harrington’s private trust is announcing the winner of the two-hundred-million-dollar green energy grant. Albright Enterprises is the only candidate on the short list. Once that check clears, we buy out our competitors and clear our short-term debt."
"Did you double-check the financial audit?" Patricia asked, a slight twitch in her eye. "The bank was asking strange questions this morning about our offshore credit lines."
"It's taken care of," Spencer insisted smoothly. "Our CFO assured me the credit lines are backed by an anonymous institutional guarantor out of Zurich. They’ve renewed us every year for six years. There's no reason tonight will be any different."
Suddenly, Spencer’s phone vibrated violently on the table.
He picked it up, expecting his secretary. Instead, it was his chief financial officer, Arthur Vance.
"Spencer!" Arthur’s voice was borderline hysterical, heavy breathing echoing over the speaker. "Where are you?"
"I’m getting ready for the gala, Arthur. What’s wrong with you?"
"The Zurich credit line... it just collapsed!" Arthur yelled. "Ten minutes ago, the guarantor executed a short-form margin call! They revoked two hundred million in liquidity guarantees! Our primary accounts at Chase and Wells Fargo are frozen!"
Spencer’s glass slipped from his fingers, shattering onto the hardwood floor, dark whiskey splashing over his polished shoes.
"What are you talking about?" Spencer shouted, his face turning pale. "The Zurich fund has backed us since I founded the company! Why would they pull out now?"
"I don't know!" Arthur stammered. "The bank manager said the order came directly from the ultimate beneficial owner! They filed a formal request with the SEC for a emergency forensic audit of our entire balance sheet!"
Patricia gasped, clutching her pearls. "Spencer, what is happening?"
Spencer swallowed hard, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. He forced his panic down, smoothing his tuxedo jacket with trembling hands.
"Calm down, Arthur," Spencer commanded, though his own voice shook. "It’s a glitch. An administrative error. We’re going to the Pinnacle Gala right now. Lord Harrington will sign the grant agreement tonight, and that liquid cash will cover the margin call before the market opens tomorrow."
"Spencer, if Harrington doesn't sign—"
"He will sign!" Spencer roared into the receiver. "The Crawford family’s representative is attending tonight to oversee the distribution! Everyone knows the Crawfords don't play games with small errors! We just need to show up, smile for the cameras, and secure the contract!"
He slammed the phone down, breathing heavily.
May you like
Cassandra walked over, placing a soft, manicured hand on his arm. "Darling, don't worry. Gwen is gone, the dead weight is removed, and tonight is your triumph. Let’s go show Beverly Hills who really owns this city."
Spencer looked at his reflection in the mirror, forcing a arrogant smile back onto his face. "You're right. Gwen was my bad luck. Now that she's out of my life, nothing can stop me."
