Chapter 7 - Mason's Desperation
At 2:00 PM, Mason was stranded on the blistering shoulder of Loop 101.
The Porsche Cayenne’s digital dash had flashed a flashing red warning: *ENGINE OVERRIDE ENGAGED. PULL OVER SAFELY.* The moment he had parked on the asphalt shoulder, the engine had died completely. The starter wouldn't even click.
Inside the car, the air conditioning had died, and within minutes, the July heat had turned the cabin into a metal kiln.
Mason was drenched in sweat, his designer shirt clinging to his back, frantically punching numbers into his phone.
His mother had finally been released on bail—paid for by a local bondsman whom Mason had been forced to promise collateral to, because his black card had been declined at the precinct register. Beatrice was currently sitting in the lobby of a cheap diner near the jail, sobbing into a paper napkin, refusing to take an Uber because she didn't have a working credit card on her app.
Mason dialed Valerie’s cell for the forty-fifth time.
*“The party you have reached is not accepting calls at this time.”*
Panicked, he dialed his private bank account. He needed to transfer funds to pay for a flatbed tow truck and get his mother to a hotel.
He tapped through the automated voice prompts.
*“Your account balance is: Negative, two thousand, four hundred and fifteen dollars.”*
Mason’s heart plummeted into his stomach. “What? That’s impossible!”
He had forgotten that his Apex Media account had automatic overdraft protection tied directly to Valerie’s master corporate account. When Valerie severed the link that morning, all the scheduled charges—the luxury condo lease in Tempe, Tiffany’s personal trainer fees, and the auto-debits for his private country club membership—had bounced back, triggering massive penalty fees that wiped out his remaining cash reserves.
Just then, an unmarked sedan pulled up behind his stalled Porsche.
Mason’s heart leaped with temporary hope—maybe a good Samaritan, or highway patrol.
A man in a sharp grey suit stepped out, holding a thick leather portfolio. He walked up to Mason’s driver-side window, tapped the glass, and waited for Mason to roll it down an inch.
“Mason Sterling?” the man asked.
“Yes! Thank God. My car died, my phone battery is at five percent—”
The man slid a thick manila envelope through the cracked window.
May you like
“You’ve been served,” the process server said cheerfully. “Petition for Dissolution of Marriage, emergency financial restraining order, and an immediate notice of exclusion from the property located at 4410 Palomino Ridge. You have sixty minutes to collect essential personal effects under police supervision. Have a great day, sir.”
***