Chapter 5 - Panic at the Morrison Household
By midday, the Morrison estate looked less like a noble manor and more like a besieged fortress. Black town cars bearing repossession insignia lined the private driveway. Men in sharp gray suits carried inventory clipboards, tagging expensive oil paintings, antique clocks, and designer furniture with orange seizure stickers.
Brendan arrived in a frantic taxi, bursting through the front doors just as two bailiffs were carrying out his mother’s priceless French armoire.
"Stop that! What are you doing?" Brendan shouted, rushing toward them. "You can't touch this! This house is protected by family trust!"
"Family trust was dissolved at 7:00 AM under corporate liability clauses," one of the bailiffs replied smoothly, stepping past him without breaking stride. "All physical assets within this domicile are now property of Apex Global receivership."
Brendan ran into the living room, finding his mother sitting rigidly in her velvet chair amidst the chaos of packing boxes and hovering legal representatives.
"Mother! Have you seen this? The bank accounts are wiped, the cars are locked, and they’re seizing the furniture!" Brendan cried, his voice bordering on hysteria. "We need to call the police! We need to sue!"
"Sit down, Brendan," Diane said. Her voice wasn't angry anymore; it was hollow, echoing with a terrifying finality.
"Sit down? How can you tell me to sit down?"
"We are ruined, Brendan," she whispered, lifting her eyes to meet his. "Everything is gone. The house, the stocks, the offshore accounts, the trust funds. Everything."
"How? Who did this?"
"Cassidy."
Brendan stared at her, the syllables bouncing off his brain without making sense. "Cassidy? You’re joking. You said she was a nobody!"
"She is the owner," Diane said bitterly, a humorless laugh escaping her lips. "Apex Global. The entire conglomerate. She founded it. She owns ninety percent of everything we ever touched. We were living in her world, spending her money, while we treated her like a beggar."
Brendan staggered backward, his legs hitting the edge of a coffee table. The memory of the previous night flashed through his mind with agonizing clarity—the metal folding chair, the ice water running down her hair, his laughter, Jessica’s snickering, and the quiet, steady way she had dialed her phone.
“Execute Protocol 7.”
It wasn't a movie reference. It was a death sentence for the Morrison family name.
"Where is she?" Brendan whispered, the blood roaring in his ears. "Where is Cassidy?"
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Before Diane could answer, Brendan’s phone buzzed once more. It was a text message from an unknown, encrypted number. There was no greeting, just a single address in the downtown financial district and a time:
Apex Global Executive Boardroom. 4:00 PM. Be there.
