Chapter 8 - The Financial Guillotine
I raised my right hand, my platinum signet ring catching the brilliant light of the center chandelier.
“Alistair,” I commanded in a quiet, unyielding voice.
“Execute Protocol Zero.”
Alistair nodded once, entering a twelve-digit cryptographic cipher into the sovereign terminal.
Behind the stage, the massive central screen divided into real-time trading terminals across the New York Stock Exchange, the London International Exchange, and the Tokyo Financial Market.
“Under the emergency authority of the Sinclair Sovereign Trust,” Alistair’s voice echoed like the hammer of judgment, “all liquidity lines, cross-collateralized debts, and federal bond guarantees supporting Vance Global are terminated with immediate effect.”
Jaxson stared at the screens, his eyes bulging as the real-time financial ticker for his family empire turned into a vertical crimson bloodbath.
Pre-market shares of Vance Global began cascading downward in an uncontrollable freefall.
One hundred and forty dollars per share.
Ninety dollars.
Forty dollars.
Within four minutes, automated volatility circuit breakers were triggered across seven international clearinghouses.
The personal fortune of the Vance family was vaporized before the eyes of the very high-society peers they had sought to impress.
“No… no, stop!” Jaxson screamed, falling to his knees on the stage floor, clawing at the wooden planks.
“My family’s reserves! My trusts! My offshore accounts in Zurich!”
“Your offshore accounts in Zurich were liquidated twenty minutes ago, Jaxson,” I said, stepping closer until my shadow fell completely over his trembling body.
“Your three private jets in Teterboro have been impounded by the Federal Aviation Administration for tax fraud.”
“Your four-hundred-foot yacht in Monaco has been seized by maritime marshals.”
“And the penthouse in TriBeCa you promised to Bianca belongs to the Sinclair Trust as of sundown today.”
Bianca let out a piercing shriek of horror, tearing off her six-carat diamond engagement ring and throwing it at Jaxson’s face.
“You lied to me!” Bianca wailed, her mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.
“You told me you were worth fifty billion dollars! You told me you owned the whole city!”
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Jaxson didn't even look at her.
He sat on the floor among broken glass and spilled wine, sobbing like a broken child whose golden crown had turned to lead.
