Chapter 5 - The Eviction of the Queen
The board members sat in frozen terror. Not a single hand went up to defend Beatrice. Not a single vice president dared to speak. They had all spent decades watching Beatrice crush her enemies without mercy, and now they realized they were staring at a woman who possessed a weapon far more lethal than venom: mathematics and law.
Beatrice stood behind her chair, her chest heaving beneath the ivory Chanel suit, her face mottled with a dark, furious purple.
“You think a gavel and a piece of paper makes you a Caldwell?” Beatrice spat, her voice shaking with rage. “You’ll never be one of us. You’re trash from a Sacramento hospital ward, and no amount of stolen money will ever wash the cheap soap off your hands!”
I didn't yell. I didn't lose my temper. I simply turned to the double doors of the boardroom, where four uniformed private security guards stood at attention.
“Escort Mrs. Caldwell and her daughter out of the building,” I instructed quietly. “And make sure they leave their corporate-issued keycards, company cars, and credit cards on the security desk downstairs.”
“You can’t do this!” Vanessa shrieked, bursting into tears as she scrambled to pick up her dropped phone. “We live in the mansion! Where are we supposed to go?!”
“Wherever you like,” I replied, sitting back down in the CEO’s chair and opening a tablet to review the morning’s shipping manifests. “The Caldwell mansion on Pacific Heights is currently owned by the Elise Caldwell Revocable Trust. And as of 3:00 PM today, the locks are being changed.”
Two of the security guards stepped forward, flanking Beatrice and Vanessa.
Beatrice didn't wait to be touched. She threw her head back with a pathetic, desperate dignity, adjusted her pearl necklace, and glared at me with eyes that promised murder.
“You’ve won this round, Elise,” Beatrice hissed as she marched toward the double doors. “But a viper in the house always ends up biting the hand that feeds it. You’ll find out soon enough that running an empire is much harder than stealing one.”
The heavy doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off Vanessa’s hysterical sobbing.
The silence that returned to the boardroom was absolute.
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I looked around the table at the remaining eleven board members—men and women who had spent years nodding obediently while Beatrice ruined the family legacy.
“Now that the room is quiet,” I said, picking up a gold fountain pen, “let’s talk about the restructuring of our logistics division. Mr. Pendelton, open your portfolio to page twelve. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
