Chapter 2: The First Casualty
The panic wasn't immediate; it was a slow, creeping rot. Julian spent the next twenty minutes at the table, his fingers flying over his smartphone. His credit cards, his digital wallet, his personal brokerage account—all blocked.
He looked toward Chloe, hoping for a moment of solidarity, but she was already checking her own phone, her face pale as she realized the man who had promised her a lifestyle was suddenly toxic assets. She stood up and walked away without a word.
Julian turned to the waiter, his voice a desperate, cracking whisper. "I’ll pay cash. I’ll—"
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"I’m afraid we’ve already been instructed to settle the bill, sir," the waiter said, bowing slightly toward Clara, who had already reached the exit. "By the Chairman."
Julian stumbled out into the cold New York night. He was a man who had never walked a mile in his life—he had drivers, assistants, and private jets. Now, he was standing on the curb of Park Avenue, a suit without a cent to his name. He tried to call his personal assistant, but the number was disconnected. He tried to call the office, but the line went to a generic voicemail. He was not just broke; he was erased.
