Nicolas sat up in his hospital bed, his face pale, his eyes wide with disbelief. His chest still ached from the bullet wound but the pain in his body was nothing compared to the shock coursing through him.
The monitors beside him beeped steadily, tracking his elevated heart rate. His hands were clenched into fists on the thin hospital blanket.
"What do you mean the accounts are frozen?" he shouted into the phone, his voice cracking. "That's not possible! The Sinclair Group—they were supposed to be our partners! They were supposed to—"
He listened, his jaw tightening. His fingers gripped the phone so hard the plastic creaked.
"Penalties? What penalties? We had a contract! A signed contract! A legally binding agreement! You can't just—"
He listened again. His face went from pale to white. The blood drained from his cheeks, leaving him looking like a ghost.
