Chapter 6 - A Five-Star London Suite Turned Into A Panicked Prison
In London, the dream had turned into an absolute nightmare.
Brandon and Clarissa were huddled in a dingy, overpriced three-star hotel near Paddington Station, having been thrown out of the Mayfair after their cards were declined and their luggage was temporarily held for unpaid room charges.
Clarissa sat on the unmade bed, her mascara ruined, screaming at Brandon at the top of her lungs.
“You said you had everything under control!” Clarissa shrieked, throwing an empty water bottle across the room. “You told me Abigail was an idiot who would never check the accounts! Now all my accounts are frozen, my professional license is about to be revoked, and my credit cards are worthless!”
“Shut up, Clarissa!” Brandon roared, pacing the narrow carpet in his wrinkled designer suit. “I have the hardware wallet! We have $3.5 million in untraceable crypto! We just need to find an OTC broker in London to cash it out into euros!”
“And how do we do that without money for food or a taxi?!” Clarissa sobbed. “I had to pawn my diamond earrings just to pay for two nights in this rat-infested room!”
Brandon’s laptop chimed. An incoming email popped up from his primary encrypted email address.
He clicked it open. The email was from Victor Ross at Vanguard Sterling.
Attached were high-resolution surveillance photos of Brandon and Clarissa walking out of Paddington station, accompanied by a single sentence:
“We know you have the hardware wallet, Mr. Vance. The collateral fraud has been verified. You have forty-eight hours to transfer the 3.5 million back to our designated wallet, or our London associates will collect the debt in person.”
Brandon’s knees gave out. He collapsed onto the cheap hotel desk, his hands shaking so violently he knocked over a glass of water.
“How... how did they find us?” Brandon gasped.
“Abigail,” Clarissa whispered, her face going completely white. “Abigail gave them our location. She’s feeding them everything.”
Just then, Brandon’s phone rang. It was an unlisted international number.
Brandon answered with a trembling voice. “Hello?”
“Brandon,” Abigail’s voice came through the speaker, crisp and clear. “I hear London is lovely this time of year.”
“Abigail! Please!” Brandon wept openly into the phone, completely dropping every shred of pride. “You have to help me! Vanguard Sterling is after me! They know where we are! They’re going to kill me!”
“You should have thought about that before you forged my signature and stole from my company, Brandon,” Abigail said coldly. “You told Clarissa I was too naive. You said I’d sit around crying while you lived off my eight million dollars.”
“I’m sorry! I made a mistake! I’ll give everything back! I’ll transfer the crypto wallet to you right now!”
“Too late, Brandon,” Abigail replied. “The federal warrants for wire fraud, identity theft, and grand larceny have already been signed by a federal judge. The FBI has contacted Interpol. You have two choices: turn yourself into the American Embassy in London, or wait for Victor Ross’s men to knock on your door.”
“Abigail, I’m your husband!” Brandon screamed.
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“You were an employee who stole from the wrong company,” Abigail said.
The call ended.
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