In London, Malcolm’s phone buzzed with a succession of frantic notifications.
*ALERT: Personal accounts frozen.*
*ALERT: Credit limit suspended.*
*ALERT: Asset seizure initiated.*
Malcolm stared at the screen. He tried to log into the London division’s operating account to pay the vendors, but a red banner blocked him: *ACCESS REVOKED BY CEO AUTHORITY.*
His office door flew open. A team of severe-looking auditors in grey suits marched in, accompanied by private security.
“Mr. Fotheringham,” the lead auditor said, dropping a box on Malcolm’s desk. “We are here on behalf of Alistair Croft. We are initiating a forensic audit of the European division for suspected embezzlement. You are to vacate the premises immediately.”
It was a lie, of course. But it was effective. Alistair hadn’t just rejected Malcolm’s refusal; he had declared war. He was cutting off Malcolm’s resources, leaving him and Isabella stranded and penniless in a foreign city.