The Thorne Heiress Unveiling Shadow novel Chapter 41

Oracle's prediction was not just a forecast; it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, a death knell that echoed through the canyons of Wall Street. The moment the post went live, the Sutton Development Group, already teetering on the brink, was shoved into the abyss. The next morning, when the market opened, their stock didn't just fall; it ceased to exist. Trading was halted as the price plunged by over ninety-nine percent in the opening seconds, turning multi-million dollar portfolios into pocket change. It was a digital execution, swift and merciless.

The fallout was immediate and brutal. The high-interest lenders from Macau, who operated more like a crime syndicate than a financial institution, were the first to act. Seeing their investment was about to be wiped out by a bankruptcy filing, they called in their loans, demanding immediate and full repayment with a level of menace that left Richard Sutton gasping for air. The legitimate banks, spooked by Oracle's terrifyingly accurate analysis, followed suit, freezing the company's accounts and seizing their assets.

For the Sutton family, the theoretical disaster of losing their fortune became a series of harsh, tangible humiliations. The first to go was the Manhattan penthouse. A somber-faced man from the bank, accompanied by two large security guards, arrived one afternoon and informed them they had forty-eight hours to vacate the premises. Movers, not the white-gloved professionals they were used to, but a rough, indifferent crew who scuffed the marble floors with their boots, began packing their lives into cheap cardboard boxes. Caroline tried to direct them, her voice shrill with authority, but they ignored her completely.

She attempted to go on one last shopping spree on Madison Avenue, a desperate act of denial. She walked into a Dior boutique, selected a handbag, and presented her American Express Platinum card. The salesgirl, who had once fawned over her, swiped the card. A small, beep of denial. She swiped it again. Another beep. The salesgirl's polite smile tightened into a mask of professional scorn. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sutton," she said, her voice dripping with condescending pity. "This card has been declined." Caroline, her face burning with shame, fled the store, leaving the handbag on the counter like a forgotten dream.

For Aria, the consequences were even more personal. She received a curt, formal email from the president of her exclusive sorority, a group she had fought tooth and nail to get into. "Dear Aria," it read, "due to recent events that have brought disrepute upon our esteemed sisterhood, we have voted to terminate your membership, effective immediately." She had been cast out, her social lifeline severed.

The family was forced to sell everything. The fleet of luxury cars, the art collection, Caroline's jewelry, all of it went to auction for pennies on the dollar to pay their mounting debts. They moved from their sprawling penthouse with its panoramic views of Central Park into a cramped, two-bedroom rented apartment in a nondescript building in Queens. The furniture was cheap, the walls were thin, and the air smelled of their neighbors' cooking.

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