Chapter 5 - The Reckoning at the Hotel
The Hampton Inn in Fayetteville smelled of industrial carpet cleaner and chlorine from an indoor pool that hadn't seen swimmers since the Clinton administration.
Evelyn Sullivan sat on the edge of a queen-sized bed with a floral polyester bedspread, her silk robe now stained at the hem from the muddy parking lot. Her phone, resting on the nightstand beside a Gideon Bible, buzzed for the forty-first time that morning.
She snatched it up, her eyes bright with desperate hope, but the caller ID read *UNKNOWN*.
"Adrian?" she snapped into the receiver.
"No, Mrs. Sullivan. This is Marcus Vance, representing the liquidator for the Crestwood estate."
Evelyn’s breath caught in her throat. Her hand shook so badly she nearly dropped the phone. "Mr. Vance... listen to me. There’s been a clerical error. My son Adrian—he’s a captain in the United States Army, he’s currently on active duty, he doesn't know what he’s signing—"
"Captain Sullivan was discharged from his operational command yesterday morning, Mrs. Sullivan," Vance said smoothly, his voice sounding like it had been filtered through several layers of corporate silk. "Furthermore, he is the primary court-appointed receiver for the entirety of the Sullivan Trust assets, effective as of 0900 hours today."
"He can't do that!" Evelyn shrieked, standing up so fast the bedside lamp wobbled. "That’s my husband’s legacy! That’s thirty years of Sullivan blood and capital!"
"Your husband’s legacy," Vance replied, his tone dropping into something cold and professional, "was a diversified portfolio of manufacturing patents and real holdings that you encumbered with margin debt and unsecured loans to finance your younger son’s lifestyle. The court has frozen all remaining liquid accounts pending forensic audit. You have forty-eight hours to vacate this hotel room; the corporate card you’ve been using was flagged as a secondary liability asset three hours ago."
The line went dead with a sharp click.
Evelyn dropped the phone. It bounced off the polyester comforter and skidded across the patterned carpet, coming to rest against the base of a particle-board dresser.
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For the first time in her life, Evelyn didn't scream. She didn't call for a maid, she didn't demand Ryan bring her coffee, and she didn't look for someone to blame. She simply sat back down on the edge of the bed, looked at her reflection in the dark, smudged television screen across the room, and realized she was completely, utterly alone.
***
