If you won't authorize the $35,000 credit expansion, you're worthless to this firm, my business partner snapped.
The SunTrust branch was quiet, too quiet. The soft hum of the air conditioning did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves. I sat across from the branch manager, Mr. Davies, a man I’d known for years, a man who’d seen me through my previous financial collapse.
“Marcus,” he began, his voice regretful. “I’m sorry, but I can’t release any funds from your auxiliary account.”
My spine stiffened. “What do you mean? It’s my personal savings account. I opened it after the bankruptcy, specifically to keep it separate.”
He pushed a document across his desk. It was a court order. “We received an *ex parte* petition. Filed by Julian Carter’s legal team.”
My eyes scanned the legal jargon, landing on the key phrase: “corporate asset commingling.” Julian was claiming that my personal funds were somehow mixed with Savor & Soul’s capital, despite the fact that I hadn’t had access to Savor & Soul’s accounts for days.
“He froze my personal account?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The chargebacks from yesterday had already wiped out my reserves. This account was my last resort.
Mr. Davies nodded slowly. “Until the court rules on this, the account is locked. All funds.”
A wave of dizziness hit me. Julian wasn’t just attacking Savor & Soul. He was systematically cutting off every single financial artery I had. He wanted me completely destitute, unable to fight back.
I gripped the edge of the desk, my knuckles white. “How long does an *ex parte* petition take to resolve?”
“It varies,” he said, avoiding my gaze. “Could be weeks. Months, if they drag it out.”
Weeks. Months. We needed money now. For groceries, for gas, for the legal retainer Nia had mentioned. The world outside the bank continued, oblivious to my spiraling crisis. A young couple walked past the window, laughing, carrying a giant teddy bear.
I stood up, the chair scraping loudly on the polished floor. “Thank you, Mr. Davies,” I managed, the words tasting like ash. “I appreciate your time.”
Outside, the Atlanta sun beat down, but I felt a chilling cold. I pulled out my phone and called Nia.
“He got my personal account,” I told her, my voice strained. “Everything’s frozen.”
A moment of silence stretched between us. I could hear the clatter of pots in the background, probably at the kitchen studio.
“Okay,” she said, her voice firm. “Okay, we pivot.”
“Pivot to what, Nia? We have nothing. My credit is shot. My assets are gone.”
“We have my car,” she replied, her voice unwavering. “My Honda CR-V is paid off. We can get an emergency loan against it.”
My chest tightened. “Nia, no. That’s your security. You can’t risk that for me.”
“It’s not for ‘you’, Marcus. It’s for *us*,” she corrected, her tone leaving no room for argument. “It’s to keep our kitchen running. To keep us fed. To fight this.”
“But if we lose—”
“We’re not going to lose,” she cut in. “We’re going to use whatever we have. And right now, we have my car. Be here in twenty minutes. I’ve already called a place.”
Her conviction was a lifeline. Julian had thought he could strip me bare, leave me exposed and defeated. He hadn’t counted on Nia. He hadn’t counted on her willingness to put everything on the line, just to keep us afloat.
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