Chapter 3 - Plastic and Sand
The terrace at the Grand Fiesta Americana was bathed in a brilliant, blinding Caribbean gold. The air smelled of salt water, hibiscus, and the rich, buttery aroma of fresh pastries. Diane sat in a white wicker chair, her straw hat casting a perfectly patterned shadow across her oversized sunglasses. She checked her watch, a gold Rolex that Ethan had bought her for her sixtieth birthday using our joint savings account.
"The air here is so much more therapeutic than Chicago, Ethan," Diane said, taking a delicate sip of her mimosa. "You were becoming positively gray dealing with Nora’s constant complaints. A pregnant woman shouldn't look so... sullen. It creates a dreadful environment in the home."
Ethan smirked, adjusting his linen shirt as he flagged down the waiter. "She’ll be fine, Mom. By the time we get back, the baby will probably be here, or she’ll be so tired of waiting around alone that she’ll actually appreciate the lifestyle I provide for her. She forgets that before she married me, she was just managing her father’s old foundations. I gave her status."
The waiter arrived, presenting a leather folder containing the preliminary bill for the resort’s VIP amenities and beachside cabana rental. "For the room charge validation, señor," the waiter said with a polite bow.
Ethan didn't even look at the total. He pulled out his platinum American Express corporate card—the one tied to the main operational account of Apex Exotic Rentals—and handed it over with a practiced, negligent flick of his wrist. "Put the premium spa packages on there for my mother as well."
"Por supuesto, señor. One moment."
Diane smiled, reaching across the table to pat Ethan’s hand. "You're a good son, Ethan. A man who respects his mother will eventually learn how to manage a wife. It’s all about boundaries."
Five minutes passed. The waiter did not return with a receipt. Instead, the assistant resort manager, a tall man in a tailored gray suit with a silver name tag that read Alejandro, walked onto the terrace. His face was a mask of professional neutrality that immediately caused Ethan’s posture to stiffen.
"Mr. Carter?" Alejandro asked, leaning down slightly so his voice wouldn't carry to the adjacent tables. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we are having an issue with the authorization on your corporate platinum card."
Ethan frowned, his brow furrowing. "What do you mean 'an issue'? That’s a primary commercial line with a hundred-thousand-dollar limit. Run it again."
"We have attempted to process it three times, señor," Alejandro said, his voice remaining smooth and immovable. "The terminal returns a specific code from your banking institution: Code 104—Account Frozen by Judicial Directive."
Ethan stood up so fast his wicker chair scraped violently against the terracotta tiles. "That’s impossible! I’m the CEO of Apex Exotics. There is no judicial directive. Give me the card."
Diane pulled off her sunglasses, her eyes narrowing into sharp slits. "What is the meaning of this? Do you know who my son is? This is an insult."
"I am merely reporting the data from the merchant terminal, señora," Alejandro said, his tone cooling significantly. "Do you perhaps have another card? A personal line, perhaps? We require a valid authorization to maintain your reservation in the presidential suite."
Ethan pulled out his wallet, his fingers trembling slightly as he pulled out his personal Visa black card—the one he used for his country club dues and personal travel. "Use this. It's a completely separate bank."
Alejandro took the card, bowed, and walked back toward the reception desk.
"It’s Nora," Diane hissed, her voice dropping into a venomous whisper as she leaned across the table. "She’s doing this to embarrass us. She’s throwing a tantrum because we left."
"She doesn't have the guts, Mom," Ethan muttered, though a cold sweat was beginning to break out along his hairline. "She doesn't even know the passwords to the corporate accounts. I locked her out of the digital ledger six months ago."
Two minutes later, Alejandro returned. This time, he didn't hand the card back. He placed it in a small plastic tray alongside a printed slip of paper. "I am sorry, Mr. Carter. The Visa black card has also been declined. The response code is identical. Frozen by order of the State Court of Illinois."
May you like
Alejandro stepped back, and two burly resort security guards in matching white uniforms stepped into the entry of the terrace. "Under resort policy, we must ask you to settle the current balance of four thousand, two hundred dollars in cash, or we must ask you to vacate the suite by noon today."
Ethan stared at the plastic tray, his face turning an unwholesome, mottled purple beneath his fresh tan. The gold Rolex on his wrist suddenly felt very heavy, and for the first time in his life, the name Ethan Carter didn't carry any weight at all.
