Chapter 3 - The Midday Execution
The grand dining room of the Prestonwood Country Club was an institution of old Southern capital. High vaulted ceilings with dark timber beams stretched over tables covered in white linen, sparkling crystal, and polished silver. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered an unobstructed view of the eighteenth green, where wealthy executives and retired judges discussed land deals over mint juleps and prime rib.
Colby sat at a round table near the center of the room, wearing his best tailored charcoal suit.
Sitting across from him was his father, Richard Bellamy—a tall, distinguished man with silver hair, sharp blue eyes, and a reputation for uncompromising corporate discipline. Beside Richard sat two senior vice presidents from First Carolina Bank, the institution currently reviewing Colby’s application for a regional director position.
Patrice sat to Colby’s left, wearing a powder-blue Chanel-style suit, her hands fluttering nervously around her iced tea glass.
"So, Colby," one of the bankers said, leaning back and dabbing his mouth with a napkin. "Richard tells us you've been managing the private portfolio side of the Bellamy estate as well. We're very impressed with your family’s consistent liquidity."
Colby forced a broad, confident smile, though his palms were sweating profusely under his mahogany table setting. He hadn't slept a wink. Every time he had looked out his bedroom window last night, the blinding white mansion across the street seemed to be mocking him. He had called Jenna twenty-seven times. Every call went straight to a dead tone—she had blocked his number before she even crossed the street.
"Well, you know how it is, Arthur," Colby said smoothly, resting his arm on the table to show off his gold Rolex. "Diversification is key. Between my market investments and... well, my wife’s logistics firm, we keep our capital moving."
"Yes, how is Jenna?" Richard asked, setting down his fork and looking at his son with sharp, discerning eyes. "I tried calling her this morning to congratulate her on the North Carolina Health System contract. That's a massive win for her firm. Fifty clinics statewide. She didn't answer."
Colby swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Oh, you know Jenna. She’s... she’s tied up in meetings today. Celebrating with her team."
"She should be celebrating," Patrice chimed in, her voice pitched just a little too high. "Though of course, Colby’s strategic advice over the years was what really gave her the confidence to expand. A woman needs a solid home base if she’s going to run a business."
Richard looked at his wife with a slight frown. He knew his wife’s tongue, and he knew his son’s ego. He had spent thirty years running a manufacturing firm, and he knew the difference between a man who built an engine and a man who painted the hood.
Before Richard could speak, the double glass doors of the dining room swung open.
A woman in a sharp navy blazer walked in, carrying a leather messenger bag. She didn't look like a club member. She walked with the brisk, unyielding cadence of a process server who had a job to do and didn't give a damn about country club etiquette.
She walked straight past the maître d', her eyes scanning the room until they locked onto Colby’s table.
"Colby Raymond Bellamy?" the woman asked, stopping right behind his chair.
The entire table fell silent. The surrounding tables—filled with Colby’s colleagues, neighbors, and business acquaintances—grew quiet as people turned to watch.
Colby’s face went white. "Who are you? This is a private dining room."
"I don't care," the woman said plainly. She reached into her messenger bag, pulled out a thick legal packet bound in blue legal backing paper, and dropped it right onto Colby’s plate, knocking over his butter knife with a loud Clatter.
"You've been served," the woman declared in a loud, clear voice that echoed off the high timber ceilings. "Summons and Complaint for Absolute Divorce, Emergency Eviction from 412 Crestview Drive, and a Petition for Immediate Temporary and Permanent Custody of Finn Bellamy."
"What?!" Patrice shrieked, jumping out of her chair so fast her purse fell to the carpet. "How dare you! Security! Remove this crazy woman!"
The process server didn't even look at Patrice. She pulled a second, thinner envelope from her bag and dropped it right into Patrice’s lap.
"Patrice Bellamy?" the server asked.
Patrice gasped, backing away as if the envelope were a venomous snake.
"That is a formal Civil Demand for Restitution and Notice of Intent to File Criminal Fraud Charges," the server announced cheerfully. "Issuing party is Bellamy Medical Solutions LLC regarding four hundred and twelve thousand dollars in unauthorized wire transfers to Apex Marketing Consultants. Have a great afternoon, everyone."
The woman turned on her heel and walked out of the dining room, her heels clicking crisply against the marble entry tiles.
The silence in the grand dining room was absolute. You could hear the faint hum of the air conditioner and the distant tick of the grandfather clock near the foyer.
Every single eye in the room—including those of the two First Carolina Bank vice presidents—was pinned on Colby and his mother.
Richard Bellamy slowly picked up the blue-backed legal packet from his son’s plate. His face was unreadable, but the muscle in his jaw was throbbing so hard it looked like a pulse. He opened the first page, his sharp eyes scanning the red ink stamping at the top: STATE OF NORTH CAROLINA — IN THE GENERAL COURT OF JUSTICE — FAMILY LAW DIVISION.
"Father... wait, let me explain," Colby stammered, his hands shaking so violently he knocked his iced tea glass over. Golden liquid pooled across the white linen tablecloth, soaking into his silk tie. "Jenna’s had a mental breakdown! She’s crazy! She came home from Chicago and—"
"Shut up, Colby," Richard said.
The tone was so quiet, so deadly, that Colby’s mouth snapped shut instantly.
Richard flipped to page four of the document, his eyes narrowing as he read the attached exhibits. Then he looked at his wife, who was clutching her envelope against her chest, her face pale and sweating under her makeup.
"Patrice," Richard said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "What is Apex Marketing Consultants?"
"Richard, darling... it’s... it’s just a small consulting venture Colby set up for me—"
"With four hundred thousand dollars stolen from Jenna’s corporate operating account?" Richard asked. He turned his gaze back to his son. "Is this true, Colby?"
The two bank vice presidents immediately stood up, buttoning their jackets with practiced, formal haste.
"Richard," one of the bankers said quietly, adjusting his watch. "I think we should reschedule this lunch. The board meeting for the regional director position is on Monday, but... given these developments, I suspect the committee will want to pause the review."
"I understand, Arthur," Richard said without looking up from the legal documents. "Thank you for your time."
The bankers practically sprinted out of the dining room, desperate to distance themselves from the radioactive wreckage of the Bellamy family reputation.
Colby buried his face in his hands, a dry, choked sob escaping his throat. "Dad... please. You have to help me. She’s taking everything. She bought the Sterling estate across the street! She moved her mother in there! She’s trying to destroy me!"
Richard slowly closed the legal folder. He stood up, towering over his son.
"She isn't destroying you, Colby," Richard said, his eyes filled with a cold, disgusted pity that cut deeper than any blade. "You destroyed yourself. You took a brilliant, hard-working woman who loved you, you let your mother treat her family like trash, and you stole her money to pretend you were a big man."
Richard turned to his wife. "Patrice. Get your purse. We are going to the bank, and then we are going to a criminal defense attorney. Because if Jenna files those embezzlement charges on Monday, I am not spending a single dime of my retirement money to keep you out of jail."
"Richard!" Patrice wailed, tears smearing her mascara. "I'm your wife!"
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"And Jenna was his wife," Richard said, pointing a finger at Colby. "Look where that got her."
Richard walked out of the dining room without looking back once, leaving Colby sitting in the middle of the crowded, silent room, staring down at his soaked silk tie and the blue legal folder that signaled the absolute end of his empire.
