Are We Going Bankrupt

Preston’s mocking grin barely had time to settle on his face. Down the sterile hospital corridor, Valerie suddenly paused. The crisp click of her heels halted on the polished linoleum. She turned her head slightly, tossing a glance over her shoulder that cut through the lingering tension.

"Don't worry," Valerie casually announced to Vance, her voice carrying a melodic yet commanding ring. "I'll either give you a call or visit you every night to urge you to pay up."

A collective gasp rippled through the surrounding crowd of medical staff and onlookers. The murmurs erupted instantly, thick with palpable envy. Eyes darted toward Vance. He stood there, dressed in unassuming clothes, looking very much like a man hardened by life's cruelties. Yet, he possessed a striking, wistful handsome quality, with deep eyes that hinted at countless unspoken storms. The onlookers stared at him, bewildered. How did a financially ruined, ordinary man manage to catch the personal attention of a brilliant, highly privileged doctor? The implications of her visiting him every night sent wild speculations flying through the hall.

Preston gritted his teeth, his bruised ego flaring. He desperately needed to salvage his dignity. Spotting Major-General Carter Dalton striding past with an imposing military aura, Preston straightened his designer jacket. He plastered on his most respectful, practiced smile and stepped forward.

"Major-General Dalton," Preston greeted politely, extending a hand in a desperate bid for recognition.

Carter did not even break his stride. He did not spare Preston a single glance. "Get lost, and stop blabbering!" Carter barked, his voice a harsh, humiliating crack of thunder in the quiet corridor.

Preston froze. The polite smile shattered off his face. A dark, ugly flush of mortification crawled up his neck as he awkwardly pulled his hand back, shrinking under the snickers of the nearby nurses.

A few moments later, Valerie re-emerged from a side room, having swapped her scrubs for typical, yet effortlessly chic, civilian attire. She marched straight back up to Vance, the soft fabric of her coat swishing around her knees.

"Give me your phone," she demanded, holding her hand out.

Vance frowned, his patience wearing thin from the morning's endless circus. "Why should I give you my phone?"

"I said I want your phone number!" Valerie snapped, her jaw tightening as she flashed a brief, sharp glare.

Realizing she was not going to take no for an answer, Vance sighed, pulling his weathered device from his pocket. He reluctantly yielded his contact information, typing the digits into her sleek phone.

Valerie snatched it back, reviewing the screen. She then pointed a slender, immaculate finger right at his chest. "Remember that you owe me six million six hundred thousand."

With that final, ringing declaration, she spun on her heel and strutted away. Her head was held high, her posture radiating untouchable confidence. She ignored Audrey's presence as if the other woman were nothing more than a ghost haunting the hallway.

Standing just a few feet away, Audrey’s heart sank straight into her stomach. A vicious flare of deep-seated insecurity erupted within her chest, burning hot and fast. The sheer, overwhelming reality of their situation crashed down on her shoulders. Combined with the six hundred thousand they owed Preston, she and Vance were now drowning in a terrifying debt of over seven million dollars. It was an astronomical figure. Even if they broke their backs working every single day for the rest of their natural lives, they could never scrape together that kind of cash.

But the money was only half the nightmare. Valerie’s strangely intimate, commanding closeness to her husband deeply unnerved Audrey. Valerie possessed the kind of effortless beauty and intimidating background that commanded a room the second she walked into it. Audrey knew her own looks were on par, but she lacked that blinding, arrogant confidence. A dark, ugly suspicion gnawed at her mind.

"Do you know Valerie?" Audrey demanded. A visible coldness flashed across her pale face, her eyes narrowing as she studied Vance's profile.

Vance ran a hand through his hair, his patience rapidly waning. The morning had been an exhausting gauntlet of insults, impossible medical bills, and screaming matches. "I told you I don't know her!" he replied, his voice rising slightly in frustration.

"You're getting impatient," Audrey mumbled, taking a half-step back as the bad feeling in her gut intensified.

Vance stepped closer, a deep frown carving lines into his forehead. He needed her to understand the immediate danger of her current alliances. "Don't get too close with Preston. You hear me?" he issued a stern warning, his gaze locking onto hers. "I'll pay the six hundred thousand back to him, so you shouldn't do something like that."

The words ignited a spark of pure, suffocating anxiety in Audrey. "How are you going to do that?" she cried out, her voice cracking as the inescapable financial ruin loomed over them. "It's six hundred thousand we're talking about!"

Before Vance could even begin to explain his hidden resources or formulate a comforting lie, his phone buzzed wildly in his pocket. He pulled it out, noting the caller ID. It was an emergency call from Zenith Corporation, his grandfather's struggling, desperately poor renovation company.

Vance swiped to answer. "Speak."

A frantic voice flooded the speaker, laced with panic. "Vance! It's been more than ten days since the company had any business! Everyone is packing up. The whole core sales team is going to resign. Doug is bringing everyone to job hop to our rival, Nebula Corporation. The salary they offer is thirty percent more than what we can give..."

Vance's eyes hardened. The muscles in his jaw ticked. Zenith Corporation only pulled in a meager three hundred thousand in annual revenue. In the grand scheme of his actual wealth, it was pocket change. But the company was founded by his grandfather. It carried a heavy, irreplaceable sentimental weight. He refused to let it go bankrupt under his watch.

He ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. He turned his attention back to Audrey, his expression unreadable. "I'm going back to the office."

He didn't wait for her response. He immediately turned and headed down the corridor, his strides long and purposeful.

Audrey stood glued to the floor. She watched his quickly retreating figure, her vision blurring as hot tears welled in her eyes. The rift between them had been growing ever since she handed Vance's savings over to Bryce. Seeing Vance chuck six hundred grand out of a window earlier today had rattled her, but this was the breaking point. She was thoroughly convinced that the crushing burden of their debt, coupled with the astronomical medical fees for his grandfather, was finally breaking his mind.

Preston seized the vulnerable moment. He slithered closer, his shoulder brushing hers as he leaned in to whisper smoothly into her ear. "It's known that a poor couple equals a miserable marriage. You and Vance clearly have no future together." His voice was a soft, poisonous hum. "I've seen too many cases like him. He will soon break down from the burden of these debts. A single pill for his grandfather already costs five hundred, and more miscellaneous fees will come pouring in. There's no way he can afford it."

Audrey did not look at Preston. She simply reached up, wiping her hot tears away in silence. She turned her back on him and walked toward the ward to visit the recovering grandfather, carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

The afternoon sun beat down on the sprawling cityscape as Vance made his commute. His destination was Genesis Tower, a towering monument of glass and steel that housed some of the city's most lucrative businesses. Zenith Corporation occupied a small, rented, dilapidated office on one of the lower floors. Despite only taking up a hundred square meters, the annual rent ran a steep one hundred thousand.

En route, Vance pulled out his private phone. He scrolled past a secure list of contacts and dialed a number. The line barely rang once before it was picked up.

"Win," Vance ordered flatly, skipping the pleasantries. "Please help me to acquire a renovation company in Genesis Tower."

Winston Rutherford's voice flowed through the receiver, effortless and calm. "All right. But actually, the entire Genesis Tower is yours."

Vance blinked, the revelation washing over him with a quiet irony. He hung up the phone, a faint, cold smirk touching his lips as he stepped through the grand, rotating glass doors of the towering skyscraper. He navigated the bustling lobby, bypassing the wealthy executives in tailored suits, and stepped into the elevator, pressing the button for Zenith's floor.

When Vance pushed open the glass door of the Zenith Corporation office, the atmosphere inside was thick with tension. The air felt heavy, tainted with fake pity and loud mockery. The small room, crammed with cheap desks and peeling wallpaper, was occupied by eight employees. They stood in a loose semicircle, their faces a mixture of guilt and eager anticipation.

Standing at the center of the pack was Doug Baxter. He was the department manager, the most experienced veteran on the payroll, pulling in a hefty twenty thousand a month. His impending departure was a death sentence for the struggling business; walking out that door meant he would take ninety percent of their vital client base with him.

Doug puffed out his chest, a smug, self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. He watched Vance walk in, eyes glinting with the thrill of the betrayal.

"Vance, this is my resignation letter," Doug announced loudly, taking the lead. He thrust a crisp white envelope across the front desk.

Vance walked over to his desk, his expression a mask of pure ice. He sat down in his worn leather chair, picked up a pen, and pulled the envelope toward him. He signed the document without even bothering to pull the letter out to read the contents.

"Who else wants to hand in their resignation letter?" Vance asked, his voice steady and devoid of any panic.

The room shuffled. One by one, the rest of the staff stepped forward, dropping their envelopes onto the desk. Vance systematically signed every single one of them. The scratch of his pen echoed in the quiet room. He worked rapidly, pushing the approved resignations aside.

He signed them all—except for one.

In the far corner of the room stood Colin Brewer, a quiet, twenty-five-year-old young man. He had not moved an inch. He kept his hands in his pockets, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

Doug crossed his arms, leaning against the edge of a cubicle. He surveyed the stack of signed papers and let out a loud, sneering laugh. "Congratulations on your bankruptcy! Zenith Corporation will close down before the month ends."

Vance stopped the pen. He slowly lifted his head, his dark eyes locking onto Doug. The room grew unnervingly quiet under the weight of that stare.

"You've been working under my grandpa for more than ten years," Vance began, his voice low but carrying a dangerous edge. "And under me for about five. Tell me, did we ever mistreat you?"

Doug rolled his eyes, a scoff escaping his lips. "It's just business."

Vance pushed his chair back slightly. "When your mother fell sick back then, I even forked out more than one hundred thousand to treat her. You never paid me back."

The reminder of Vance's past extreme generosity hung in the air. The other resigning employees shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact. But Doug remained unfazed. He shamelessly squared his shoulders.

"I didn't ask you to do that," Doug claimed, his tone dripping with ungrateful defiance. "You gave it to me willingly. Legally speaking, one cannot get back funds gifted to another. So, I don't owe you a single dime."

Vance let out a dry, mocking breath. He pointed a finger toward the wall, gesturing in the vague direction of their rival's headquarters. "How much did they offer you?"

Doug puffed his chest out even further, loudly boasting to the silent room. "Nebula Corporation offered a basic salary of two thousand. But I get a ten percent commission for all sales. They're way more generous than you ever were. It's an incredible rate."

Ignoring the stinging betrayal and the sheer arrogance of the man he had once helped save from ruin, Vance slowly turned his attention away. He looked past the crowd of traitors, his gaze landing on the lone remaining employee.

"Col, how about you?" Vance asked quietly.

Colin finally looked up. He pulled his hands out of his pockets and stood tall. His young face was set with a steady, resolute determination. "I won't leave unless you fire me."

Doug threw his head back and scoffed loudly at Colin's perceived stupidity. "How stupid! Enjoy sinking with the ship, kid." Doug waved his hand, signaling the rest of the pack. "Let's go report for work at Nebula Corporation."

As the group turned to head for the door, Vance rose slowly to his feet.

"Col, good job," Vance announced. His voice was no longer quiet. It carried clearly and powerfully across the dilapidated office, freezing the departing crowd in their tracks.

Colin blinked in surprise, unsure of what to make of the praise.

"You can continue to stay here," Vance continued, his eyes locked on the loyal employee. "I'll promote you to department manager right now. Your monthly salary will be thirty thousand."

The departing employees stopped dead. They exchanged bewildered glances.

"On top of that," Vance added, his tone ringing with absolute certainty, "I'll give you another thirty percent of the shares of this company."

A heavy, stunned silence blanketed the room. Doug stood frozen near the door, processing the astronomical numbers Vance had just thrown out. Thirty thousand a month? Thirty percent of the company?

Then, the silence broke.

Doug let out a snort, which quickly escalated into booming, uncontrollable laughter. The rest of the traitorous crowd joined in, the sound of their mockery echoing off the cheap walls. They laughed until their sides hurt, pointing fingers at Vance as if he had just delivered the punchline to the greatest joke of the century.

Doug chuckled coldly, his eyes dripping with absolute contempt. He wiped a tear of mirth from his eye and shook his head.

"It's difficult for you even to have five hundred in your pocket, so stop pretending!" Doug mocked, his voice laced with venom. "Besides, what use does thirty percent of shares have? Zenith Corporation will not have a single sale after we leave. The business is dead in the water. So who're you trying to fool by offering a monthly salary of thirty thousand? You're nothing but a broke loser!"