The room went quiet again.
Thornton blinked.
“I’m sorry?”
“Fifteen million dollars. That is what Solen Trust made in management fees from my accounts last year.”
I glanced at Meera.
“Not bad for managing a beggar’s money.”
She made a small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a whisper.
“The withdrawal is already in progress,” I continued. “Your European division has processed its liquidations. Asia-Pacific is wrapping up now. Domestic portfolios should be cleared within the next two hours. My legal team has filed the necessary notifications. Every notice period has been observed. Everything is by the book.”
Patricia Wells finally spoke.
“Mr. Ramil, a withdrawal of this magnitude will have serious consequences, not only for Solen Trust but for market perception.”
“Then Solen Trust should have treated its clients with respect.”
No one had an answer for that.
I stood and walked around the table to where Meera sat.
Her hands were shaking.
She looked up at me, and for the first time in years, she did not look superior. She looked small.
“This is not about revenge, Meera,” I said quietly. “It is about respect. Something you never learned to give.”
I looked around the room.
The people at that table had built careers on judging risk. Yet none of them had understood the risk of humiliating a man because his clothes were not expensive.
“Gentlemen, it has been educational.”
I turned toward the door.
Then I paused with my hand on the handle and looked back at Thornton.
“You might want to start working on your press release. This story will be everywhere by tomorrow morning.”
The door closed softly behind me.
Forty-two floors below, the city continued its normal rhythm. People bought coffee. Cabs honked. Workers hurried back from lunch.
They had no idea one of the most respected investment banks in the state had just learned an expensive lesson about customer service.
The elevator ride down felt calm.
My phone buzzed as I reached the lobby.
Ida.
European transfers complete. Asia-Pacific ahead of schedule. Domestic portfolios liquidating now. You have officially become Solen Trust’s worst nightmare.
I smiled.
The same security guard who had watched Meera humiliate me earlier gave me a polite nod as I walked out.
He had no idea the man in jeans had just cost his employer more money than some small countries see in a year.
My Honda was still parked three blocks away with two minutes left on the meter.
I fed it another quarter out of habit.
Old patterns die hard, even when your net worth has more zeros than most people can imagine.
As I drove away, my phone began buzzing.
Unknown number.
Unknown number.
Unknown number.
Then a name I knew.
Meera.
I let it ring.
Then came the texts.
Reed, please. We need to talk.
This is insane.
You cannot be serious about this.
Eight billion over a misunderstanding?