Chapter 3 - The Morning After
At seven-thirty the following morning, Camden Tatum woke up in the presidential suite of the St. Regis, smelling of vintage Dom Pérignon, expensive cigars, and Jasmine Rivers’s sandalwood perfume.
He stretched leisurely, his naked arm slung over Jasmine’s bare shoulder. Sunlight flooded through the floor-to-ceiling silk drapes. He felt an intoxicating surge of omnipotence. The gala had been an unqualified triumph. The tech blogs were already running headlines about Tatum Vanguard Technologies’ historic restructuring: *Visionary Camden Tatum Elevates Prodigy Jasmine Rivers to CEO.*
Jasmine stirred, fluttering her manicured eyelashes. She rolled over, resting her chin on his chest, her dark hair spilling across his collarbone.
"Morning, Chairman," she purred, tracing a finger down the center of his chest. "How does it feel to finally be free of the dead weight?"
Camden chuckled, kissing her forehead with easy condescension. "It feels overdue. You should have seen Vicki’s face when I announced your promotion, Jas. Pathetic. She honestly believed that making pancakes and staying home entitled her to a seat at my table."
"Did you really have to kick her, though?" Jasmine giggled, without an ounce of genuine sympathy. "Someone might have recorded it."
"Let them," Camden scoffed, sitting up and swinging his legs over the edge of the mattress. "My PR team can spin anything. Besides, Vicki doesn't have the spine to go to the police. She knows who pays for her lifestyle. She knows without me, she’s a nobody from the Midwest with a high school diploma and an empty bank account. She’ll pack her bags, take a couple hundred grand in alimony, and disappear quietly."
Camden picked up the suite telephone and dialed room service. "Send up two orders of the imperial caviar scramble, a basket of brioche, and a bottle of Cristal. Charge it to the master suite."
"Certainly, Mr. Tatum," the concierge replied.
Fifteen minutes later, the suite doorbell chimed. Camden wrapped a plush velvet robe around himself, retrieved his wallet from the bedside table, and opened the door. A server stood behind a silver-domed trolley, flanked by a gentleman in an immaculate morning suit.
"Good morning, Mr. Tatum," the manager said politely, his posture noticeably stiff. "We apologize for the intrusion, but when processing the room service charge against your incidental guarantee, your Black Titanium Centurion card was flagged."
Camden gave an irritated wave of his hand. "Nonsense. There’s a quarter-million-dollar monthly limit on that card. Run it again."
"We attempted to run it through four separate terminals, sir. The system returned a hard code zero-seven: *Cardholder Privileges Revoked. Account Liquidated.*"
Camden frowned, feeling the first prickle of irritation behind his temples. "Fine. Put it on the corporate line. Tatum Vanguard Holdings."
The manager looked down at a handheld tablet. "That card was rejected as well, Mr. Tatum. As were the secondary debit accounts. In fact, our merchant processor received an administrative freeze notice from the Federal Depository Clearance network at five-fifteen this morning."
Jasmine stepped out from the bedroom, wrapped in a sheet, her brow furrowed. "Camden? What’s going on? Where is the champagne?"
"It’s a banking error," Camden snapped, his ears burning with embarrassment. "My treasury department is probably transferring operational liquidity for the foreign market open. It happens all the time." He pulled out his personal smartphone, opened his mobile banking application, and froze.
The balance on his primary checking account: **$0.00.**
The balance on his personal high-yield reserve: **$0.00.**
A red banner flashed across the top of the screen: *All accounts restricted pursuant to Aurelia Holdings Master Security Lien No. 449-B. Contact administrative counsel.*
"What the hell is Aurelia Holdings?" Camden muttered under his breath, his voice tightening.
"Mr. Tatum," the hotel manager said, his voice shedding every trace of warmth. "The suite balance stands at fourteen thousand two hundred dollars. If you cannot provide an operative payment method immediately, we will be forced to escort you off the premises and contact local authorities."
"Do you have any idea who I am?" Camden snarled, stepping into the manager’s space. "I am Camden Tatum! I own the tallest commercial footprint in Hudson Yards!"
May you like
"Be that as it may, sir," the manager replied, stepping aside to reveal two armed hotel security guards standing in the corridor. "You have twenty minutes to vacate the room."
***
