Chapter 5 - Bottom of the Glass
Twenty-four hours had transformed Gage Vance from a manicured socialite into a rumpled fugitive. Sleeping in an all-night diner booth had creased his tuxedo beyond recognition. His throat burned with dry thirst, and his stomach gnawed with hunger.
He found himself sitting at the counter of a dingy pub off Tenth Avenue, watching his last fifty-dollar bill vanish into a cheap whiskey and a basket of greasy fries. The television mounted above the sticky taps was tuned to a financial broadcast.
The anchor's voice cut through the background hum: "Breaking news: Vance Logistics has announced a complete restructuring of its executive board. Chairman Arthur Vance has permanently severed all family sub-entities, initiating a public freeze on non-performing heir stipends."
A photo of Gage’s own smiling face appeared on the screen beside the words: Family Severance.
Patrons at the bar glanced up at the television, then down the bar at Gage. A man in paint-splattered overalls chuckled. "Look at that, another trust-fund parasite getting thrown out with the trash."
Gage gripped his glass so hard his knuckles turned white. He wanted to scream at them, to demand respect, to remind them who his grandfather was. But when he opened his mouth, no sound came out. His phone, down to three percent battery, buzzed violently on the wood.
It was an unknown number. He answered with trembling hands. "Hello?"
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"Mr. Gage Vance?" a gruff voice demanded. "This is Marcus from the Brooklyn Waterfront Marina. Your brother cancelled the slip fee for your yacht. If you don't pay seventy-two hundred dollars by noon tomorrow, we impound the vessel."
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