Chapter 2 - The Crimson Albatross
Down on Park Avenue, the celebration in Lila Summers' luxury suite was already turning sour. Lila poured herself another glass of vintage champagne, her perfectly manicured nails tapping impatiently against the crystal flute. She had expected Andrew to return triumphant from the gala, ready to flaunt their public coupling and finalize the immediate public humiliation of his pregnant wife. Instead, the heavy oak door swung open to reveal a disheveled Andrew, his bespoke tuxedo jacket discarded, his tie ripped loose, and his face drained of every drop of color.
"What took you so long?" Lila pouted, sauntering over and running a finger down his chest. "The tabloids are already running our photos on the front page of every digital daily. We are trending higher than the Met Gala!"
"Shut up, Lila," Andrew hissed, pushing her hand away with a cold violence that made her stumble backward.
Lila’s jaw dropped, her pout instantly vanishing into a mask of pure indignation. "Excuse me? You talk to me like that after I helped you secure the social positioning you needed to muscle out the old guard? You are Andrew Weston! You don't get to look at me like I'm a nuisance!"
"Listen to me very carefully," Andrew said, his voice dropping to a terrifying, desperate growl as he grabbed her shoulders. "Claire cleaned us out. The accounts are frozen. The investors are pulling out. The entire board is ousting me by sunrise. We are broke."
The champagne flute slipped from Lila’s fingers, shattering into a thousand sparkling shards against the hardwood floor. The color drained completely from her face. "Broke? What do you mean, broke? You are a billionaire! My family didn't back your social climbing so you could end up living in a studio apartment!"
"Your family backed a winning horse," Andrew snarled, his eyes wild with desperation. "And right now, that horse has been put down by my wife."
Before Lila could scream another protest, heavy, rhythmic pounding echoed against the penthouse door. Before either of them could reach the handle, the door was forcefully shoved open. Three federal marshals, flanked by two private investigators wearing dark suits, stepped into the foyer.
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"Andrew Weston?" the lead marshal demanded, flashing a federal badge. "You are hereby served with an emergency injunction for corporate asset misdirection and interstate financial evasion, filed on behalf of your legal counsel and primary equity holder, Claire Callahan-Weston."
Andrew stared at the badge, the world spinning violently around him. They hadn't just stripped his money; they had used his own corporate registration mistakes—mistakes Claire had quietly documented over the past two years—to bring down the entire legal hammer. He looked at Lila, who was already backing away toward the bedroom, her eyes wide with cold calculation. The moment she realized he had nothing left, the socialite turned on her heel and locked herself inside, abandoning the man she had seduced just hours earlier.
