Chapter 7 - The Panic Of The Charleston King: Desperate Flowers And Closed Steel Gates
By sunrise on Sunday morning, the Calloway mansion was surrounded by thirty delivery vans.
Graham had spent the entire night calling every florist from Charleston to Atlanta. Five thousand fresh white gardenias—her favorite flower—filled the front courtyard, the grand foyer, the staircases, and the master bedroom, turning the entire estate into a sea of pristine white blossoms.
He had personally driven to the most exclusive jewelry houses on King Street at 6:00 AM, purchasing every rare emerald and diamond bracelet they had in stock.
He arrived at the gates of the Sterling Manor on Sullivan's Island at 8:00 AM, looking completely ruined. His tuxedo was discarded; he wore a rumpled black shirt, dark circles under his eyes, holding a handwritten ten-page letter and the velvet box containing his father's watch.
He pressed the intercom button at the massive iron gates.
“Elena! Please! Open the gate!” Graham cried into the speaker, the formidable syndicate boss reduced to a desperate, weeping beggar in the morning rain. “I was a fool! I was boasting! It was pure, pathetic male pride! I love you! I have loved you since the day I first saw you on the Battery! Please let me explain! Let me look you in the eye!”
The intercom clicked on.
It was not Elena’s voice.
“Mr. Calloway,” the voice of Julian Cross, lead counsel for the Sterling Maritime Trust, sounded through the speaker. “Ms. Sterling has issued a formal no-trespass order against you. Furthermore, as of 7:00 AM this morning, the United States Coast Guard and the South Carolina Port Authority have executed an emergency administrative closure on Berths 1 through 14.”
Graham staggered back from the gate. “What?! Administrative closure? What about the midnight freight schedule?!”
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“The master lease of Calloway Shipping Enterprises has been formally terminated due to material breach of contract,” Julian replied coldly. “Have your legal team contact our office. Do not return to this property.”
The intercom went dead.
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