Chapter 4 - The Crumbling Foundation
By noon, the panic inside the Bel Air mansion had escalated into full-scale hysteria.
Victor had spent the last four hours frantically calling every single contact in his phone. Business associates, country club acquaintances, bank representatives, and mutual friends. Not a single person answered, and those who did quickly hung up once they realized Victor was no longer a man of wealth, but a sinking ship.
Vanessa was pacing back and forth across the marble-tiled living room, her face twisted in absolute fury. "What do you mean her phone is off? Call her office! Call her lawyer! Do something, Victor! You're sitting there like a useless idiot while we are about to be thrown out onto the street!"
"I've called everyone!" Victor yelled back, slamming his phone onto the coffee table so hard the screen cracked. "I don't understand! She always caves! Whenever I got angry, whenever I demanded more, she always gave in eventually! She’s just playing games to teach me a lesson!"
"A lesson?" Vanessa shrieked. "Look around us, Victor! Our credit cards are declining! I tried to book an Uber to my mother's place, and the app said the account was suspended! The luxury car leases are tied to her corporate accounts—they're towing the Mercedes out of the driveway right now!"
Victor rushed to the front window. Sure enough, a flatbed tow truck was hoisting his prized sports car off the driveway, its tires screeching softly against the asphalt as it prepared to haul it away.
"Stop! That's mine!" Victor screamed, banging on the glass, but the driver didn't even glance back.
The realization of their utter helplessness began to sink in. Without my money, without my credit, without my business empire backing them up, Victor and Vanessa were absolute nobodies. They had no savings, no independent careers, and no marketable skills. For five years, they had lived like royalty on borrowed wealth, spending money as if the fountain could never run dry.
"We need to go see her," Vanessa said abruptly, stopping her pacing and grabbing her designer handbag. "We go to her house in Pasadena. You get on your knees, you beg, you cry—do whatever it takes. Apologize for last night. Tell her it was a misunderstanding."
"I... I can't," Victor stammered, his face pale. "I hit her, Vanessa. I punched her thirty times. You saw it."
"She's your mother!" Vanessa hissed, her voice sharp with desperation. "Mothers forgive everything! If you don't fix this today, we are going to be living in a motel by tomorrow night!"
Panic overriding their remaining shreds of pride, they rushed out the front door—only to realize they didn't even have a car to drive. Their only option was to call a regular taxi, but when Victor tried to use his credit card to pay for it, the machine flashed a cold, merciless rejection: Declined. Invalid Account.
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Humiliated, defeated, and stranded on their own front porch, Victor finally pulled out his phone one last time and dialed my number, his hands shaking so badly he could barely press the buttons.
This time, after three long rings... I picked up.
