Chapter 5 - Black Friday Reckoning
Dawn broke over Chicago in shades of steely gray. Black Friday had arrived, and the city streets were already bustling with early morning shoppers braving the sub-freezing temperatures for sales along Michigan Avenue.
At 5:15 AM, Megan Peterson pulled her white Porsche Macan into the loading zone behind the luxury retail strip.
She was dressed to the nines—cashmere turtleneck, heavy foundation attempting to conceal the swelling on the left side of her jaw where I had struck her, and large designer sunglasses hiding her eyes. Behind her came three of her retail employees, shivering and holding cups of hot coffee, excited for what Megan had promised would be a record-breaking holiday season.
Megan tapped toward the rear glass entrance of Maison Megan, keys in hand, chatting loudly on her AirPods.
"I don't care what Mark says," she was complaining to someone on the line. "Chloe is a psycho. She slapped me in front of everyone! But Dad is handling it. We're going to make Mark take control of their bank accounts so she can't pull this dramatic garbage ever again... Wait, what the hell?"
Megan stopped dead in her tracks.
The heavy glass back door didn't budge when she pulled on the handle. When she slid her key into the deadbolt, it didn't even turn. The tumbler was completely different.
"What is this?" she snapped, turning to her assistant. "Did someone change the locks?"
"No, Miss Peterson," the young woman replied nervously. "We closed up at 8:00 PM on Wednesday like you told us."
Megan marched around to the front entrance on the main avenue.
That was when the breath left her lungs.
Two armed private security guards in high-visibility tactical vests stood flank at the main double doors of Maison Megan. Taped to the pristine glass facade, directly beneath her gilded logo, were three neon-orange legal notices.
**NOTICE OF IMMEDIATE LEASE TERMINATION AND EVICTION**
**PREMISES SEIZED UNDER COMMERCIAL DEFAULT - ARTICLE 14**
**ALL INVENTORY AND ASSETS FROZEN PENDING FORENSIC AUDIT**
A small crowd of early shoppers who had lined up outside for the 6:00 AM doorbuster deals were whispering, pointing their phones at the signs, and taking pictures.
"Excuse me!" Megan shrieked, charging up the steps toward the security guards. "What is the meaning of this? Get out of my way! This is my store! I am the owner!"
One of the guards, a stone-faced professional named Briggs, stepped forward, his hand resting casually on his utility belt.
"Ma'am, step back behind the velvet rope. You are trespassing on private property."
"Trespassing?!" Megan’s voice cracked into a shrill screech. "Are you out of your mind?! I am Megan Peterson! Call the building manager right now! This is illegal! I have half a million dollars of merchandise in there!"
"The building manager is here," a calm, crisp voice called out from the sidewalk.
Megan spun around.
I walked toward the store entrance, flanked by Zoe and Marcus. I was wearing an impeccably tailored wool coat, my hair swept back, my eyes clear and completely cold.
When Megan saw me, her swollen jaw dropped.
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"Chloe?" Megan gasped, her voice trembling between fury and confusion. "You... you did this? How dare you! Call off these thugs right now! My customers are waiting!"
"There are no customers today, Megan," I said, stopping three feet away from her. "Maison Megan is permanently closed."
