Mark pushed the $3,000,000 cashier’s check back across the cafeteria table. It slid to a stop directly in front of Arthur. “My mother’s true wishes,” Mark said, his voice firm, “are not for sale.”
Arthur’s face, usually so composed, contorted. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He picked up the check, folded it once, and slipped it into his breast pocket without another word. He simply stood up and walked away, the silence more menacing than any threat.
True to his word, within the hour, a legal freeze order landed on Mark’s attorney’s desk, executed by Arthur’s new, less reputable counsel. It targeted Julian Albright’s medical trust accounts, suspending all disbursements.
Hours later, Julian called Mark in tears from Chicago. His specialty pharmacy had just canceled his monthly medication delivery, citing “insufficient funds.” Julian’s autoimmune therapy was critical, costing $4,200 a month out of pocket, money he didn’t have.
“I can’t get my medication, Mark,” Julian choked out, his voice raw with panic. “I don’t know what to do. He actually did it.”
Mark closed his eyes, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. Arthur had struck where it hurt most. Without hesitation, Mark transferred his last $4,500 of personal savings to Julian’s account, enough to cover one month’s prescription and keep him afloat. The transfer left Mark with a paltry $112 in his own bank account. He was financially gutted, but Julian was, for now, safe.
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