Chapter 4 - The Gold-Digger’s Awakening
While Thomas was learning what it meant to be broke in a forty-story glass cage, Brooke Sanders was sitting in the VIP lounge of the city’s most exclusive day spa, treating herself to a diamond-infused facial paid for on Thomas’s secondary corporate card.
Her phone buzzed against the marble table. A text from Thomas: Meet me at the penthouse immediately. Emergency.
Brooke rolled her eyes, annoyed that her relaxation was being interrupted. She gathered her Chanel bag, slipped her diamond-studded sunglasses over her eyes, and walked out to her white Porsche Cayenne—a car Thomas had bought her for her birthday using a corporate lease.
When she swiped her key card at the penthouse lobby, the elevator didn't move. A red digital light flashed above the panel: ACCESS DENIED. ACCOUNT FROZEN.
Frowning, Brooke walked over to the front desk. “There’s some mistake. I’m Brooke Sanders, resident of the penthouse suite.”
The concierge, a young man who had always treated her with chilly politeness, gave her a flat, unblinking stare. “I’m sorry, Ms. Sanders. Management received notice from the bank an hour ago. All residential leases and subsidiary accounts associated with Mr. Grant and his affiliates have been suspended pending court order.”
“Suspended?” Brooke’s voice rose an octave, drawing the attention of two women sitting in the lobby. “Do you know who I am? Call Thomas Grant right now!”
“Mr. Grant’s accounts are also frozen, ma’am,” the concierge said, not bothering to hide the slight smirk at the edges of his mouth. “In fact, security has instructions to escort you from the premises if you cannot settle your outstanding balance of twelve thousand dollars for last month’s amenity fees.”
Twelve thousand dollars. Brooke’s hands shook as she opened her designer wallet. She pulled out her platinum American Express card and slammed it on the counter. “Run it.”
The card reader beeped twice with a harsh, descending tone. DECLINED.
She tried again. DECLINED.
“Try the backup!” she hissed.
“Declined, ma’am. Issuer reports card cancelled due to suspected fraudulent activity.”
Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through Brooke’s manufactured confidence. She turned around just as the glass front doors swung open and Thomas walked in, looking like a ghost. His tie was loose, his suit jacket rumpled, his hair uncombed.
“Thomas!” Brooke rushed toward him, grabbing his arm. “What is going on? My card was declined! The concierge says our accounts are locked! What did you do?”
Thomas stared down at her hand on his arm—the same hand wearing the emerald-cut diamond ring he had stolen from my safe. For the first time, he looked at her not as a trophy, but as an expensive anchor dragging him into the abyss.
“Shut up, Brooke,” Thomas muttered, shaking her off.
“Don’t tell me to shut up!” she screamed, her voice cracking as the veneer of luxury stripped away to reveal a desperate, furious thirty-five-year-old woman facing reality. “You told me you were rich! You told me you owned everything! If I’m broke, what am I doing with an old man?”
The entire lobby went dead silent.
Thomas’s face twisted with a mixture of humiliation and blinding rage. He looked at Brooke, then looked around the lobby at the people staring at them, and finally realized what I had known all along: people who love you for your money will leave the moment the account hits zero.
“Get out,” Thomas whispered, his voice trembling.
“What?”
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“I said, get out of my sight!” Thomas roared, shoving past her toward the elevators, completely forgetting they wouldn't open for him either.
Brooke stood in the middle of the lobby, her chest heaving, her designer sunglasses sliding down her nose. Then she turned on her heel and stormed out the door, never looking back.
