I pushed the heavy oak door closed behind Walt, the click echoing too loudly in the sudden quiet of my office. His ultimatum, sharp and venomous, still hung in the air: give up Eleanor or face ruin. I wouldn’t do it. Not after everything.
My first thought was the restoration accounts. Where were these “irregularities” Walt spoke of? I needed to see the ledger, every transaction.
I pulled out my phone, fingers already typing in my banking app password. The screen loaded, but instead of my usual balances, a stark red banner screamed across the top.
“Account Frozen – Suspected Financial Misconduct.”
A cold knot tightened in my stomach. This wasn’t some minor bookkeeping error. This was an outright attack.
I tried my business account next. Same banner. My personal savings. Frozen. Every single dollar, every penny I’d earned over fifty years of honest work, locked away.
I grabbed my landline, dialing my bank manager directly. The phone rang for what felt like an eternity.
“Mr. Gable, I’m sorry,” a clipped voice said, not even his secretary’s. “Mr. Henderson is unavailable.”
“This is Arthur Gable. My accounts are frozen. I need to speak to someone right now.” My voice was steadier than I felt.
“We have received an official inquiry,” the voice continued, dismissive. “We cannot discuss details. Your attorney will be contacted.”
They hung up. Not even a transfer, just a cold click. This wasn’t standard protocol for an “inquiry.” This felt orchestrated.
My hands trembled slightly as I flipped through my Rolodex. I needed to call the Savannah Historic Preservation Board. They knew me. They knew my work. Surely they’d listen.
I dialed David Chen’s office first. David, a man I’d served with for twenty years.
“Mr. Chen is in a meeting,” his assistant chirped. “He’ll be tied up all day.”
“Could you tell him Arthur Gable called? It’s urgent.”
“I’ll relay the message.” The line went dead.
I tried Brenda Holloway, another long-time board member. Her assistant, a young woman who usually greeted me warmly, sounded strained.
“I’m afraid Ms. Holloway won’t be taking any calls today, Mr. Gable.”
“Is she alright? Is everything okay?”
“She’s fine,” the assistant said, too quickly. “Just… a lot on her plate.”
Not even a “she’ll call you back.” It was a wall. A sudden, impenetrable wall. Walt wasn’t just spreading rumors; he was systematically cutting off my every lifeline, isolating me from the very people who knew my character. My world, stable for seven decades, was shifting beneath my feet.
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