Chapter 5 - THE PRESSURE BUILDS
By Wednesday of the following week, the atmosphere inside Apex Luxury Motors had deteriorated from high anxiety to outright psychological warfare for Daniel Mercer.
Every time the phone rang, Daniel jumped. Every time a corporate email notification chimed on his desktop, his heart hammered against his ribs. Regional VP Arthur Vance had visited the showroom unannounced on Tuesday afternoon, walking past rows of polished sports cars with a face like thunder, demanding to know if Daniel had secured an invitation to the VIP reception table at the Bradford Holdings Gala.
"I've got the invitation right here, Art," Daniel had lied smoothly, patting his breast pocket where the heavy gold-embossed envelope rested. "We'll be sitting right at the front."
"You better be, Mercer," Vance had warned, leaning in close. "Bradford Holdings’ executive team has been making massive waves across the Southeast. Rumor has it the principal heir—the daughter of billionaire industrialist George Bradford—is taking an active role in regional asset restructuring. If you screw this up, our entire franchise gets liquidated."
The mention of the name Bradford sent a fresh wave of nausea through Daniel’s stomach. He had tried running background checks on George Bradford through local registry databases, but every search hit massive security walls, restricted files, and high-level corporate redactions. It was as if the old farmer from North Carolina was actually a ghost wrapped in titanium armor.
And then there was Jessica.
Living with Jessica had lost its romantic sheen within seventy-two hours. Without Claire cleaning the house, cooking meals, and managing the domestic friction, Jessica complained incessantly about chores, whined about her social media engagement dropping, and demanded that Daniel buy her more expensive jewelry to soothe her nerves.
"Why are you so obsessed with this stupid gala, Daniel?" Jessica snapped on Wednesday evening as they sat in their cluttered living room eating takeout sushi out of plastic containers. "You’ve been pacing the floor for three days like a caged animal. It’s just a bunch of boring old corporate suits."
"You don't understand, Jess!" Daniel snapped back, slamming his chopsticks down onto the coffee table. "If I don't impress the senior executives from Bradford Holdings next Friday, I lose my job, I lose this house, and we lose everything! My entire career is hanging by a thread!"
Jessica rolled her eyes, scoffing. "Oh, please. You’re the top sales manager at Apex. If things go south, we’ll just ditch Nashville and move to Miami. Who cares about some old-money farmers from the hills?"
Daniel stared at his mistress, a sudden surge of resentment flashing through him. For months, Jessica had whispered in his ear that Claire was dead weight holding him back. Now, under intense pressure, Jessica’s shallow self-absorption grated on his nerves like sandpaper.
He didn't say anything, but as he looked around the messy living room, a strange, hollow feeling echoed in his chest. For a fleeting second, an image of Claire—calm, composed, wiping their son's tears while covered in blue frosting—flashed across his mind.
No, Daniel shook his head violently, banishing the thought. Claire is gone. She’s probably crying in some cheap motel room with the brat. I'm a successful man. I don't need her.
To prove it, Daniel reached into his briefcase and pulled out a receipt for an expensive, diamond-accented tennis bracelet he had ordered for Jessica to keep her quiet. He tossed it across the table.
"Here. Wear this to the gala next Friday," Daniel said flatly. "And for God's sake, make sure you look expensive. We need to look like power players."
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Jessica’s face lit up instantly as she snatched the velvet box. "Now you're talking, babe. We're going to blind them all."
Neither of them knew that across town, sitting in a private corner booth of an upscale rooftop restaurant overlooking the Cumberland River, Claire Bradford was clinking crystal glasses with her father, toasting to the final countdown.
