Chapter 3 - The Scramble
"You're bluffing. You can't just... you can't do that without a thirty-day cure period!" Thomas Vance stammered, sweat beading on his forehead as he scrambled to pull out his own tablet. "The contract stipulates—"
"The contract stipulates immediate termination of all financial obligations in the event of active asset diversion or fraud," I recited smoothly, sliding my napkin onto my abandoned chair. "Read Section 14, Paragraph C, Thomas. I wrote the clause myself five years ago when Barrett tried to mortgage our primary residence without my consent."
Barrett’s face was a mask of sheer terror mixed with murderous rage. For ten years, he had lived off my pedigree, my capital, and my unwavering loyalty. He had convinced himself that I was a permanent fixture of his landscape—like the marble columns in the lobby or the leather chair in his office. He never expected the landscape to pack up and walk away.
"Liv," Barrett hissed, his voice dropping to a dangerous, pleading whisper as he rounded the table toward me. He reached out, his fingers gripping my bare shoulder with a little too much pressure. "Liv, listen to me. Whatever you think you saw... whatever Sasha and I—it’s not what it looks like. We can fix this. Let’s go home. We’ll talk about it in private."
I looked down at his hand on my shoulder. The manicured fingers that had once promised me forever, now trembling with the realization that he was about to lose everything he had ever stolen.
"Don't touch me, Barrett," I said quietly.
I didn't yell. I didn't pull away with dramatic flair. I simply turned my head and looked at his hand until, with a flicker of humiliation, he let go.
"Mr. Sloan! Mr. Sloan, your phone!"
It was the young digital PR manager, a kid named Leo who looked like he was about to throw up his seared ahi tuna. He was holding his personal smartphone out, the screen glowing brightly. "It’s... it’s the CEO of Apex. Mr. Vance. He’s calling from London. He says the wire didn't clear. He’s threatening to pull out of the acquisition and sue for breach of contract!"
"Give me that," Barrett snatched the phone out of the kid's hand, his thumb swiping frantically. "Henderson? Listen to me, there’s been a clerical error at the bank—no, no, don't listen to the press releases—Henderson, please, give me twenty-four hours—"
A sharp click echoed through the silent room.
Barrett slowly lowered the phone. The call had been hung up.
Sasha was shaking now, her carefully constructed poise shattering into jagged little pieces. Her expensive Chanel bag slipped from her lap, hitting the floor with a dull thud. "Barrett... what does this mean? If the Apex deal falls through, the board is going to trigger the CEO removal clause. They’ll audit everything."
"They won't just audit the company, Sasha," I said, adjusting my diamond tennis bracelet. "They’ll audit the personal accounts too. I hope you enjoy high-end fashion, because federal investigators tend to look very closely at how executive assistants afford million-dollar Miami condos on a ninety-thousand-dollar salary."
Sasha’s head snapped toward me, her eyes wide with genuine panic. "You wouldn't."
"Try me," I smiled, a cold, humorless expression that made her step back. "I spent ten years sitting quietly in the corner while my husband and his little shadow played corporate office. I watched you wear my clothes, use my contacts, and disrespect my presence in my own home. You think I’m soft because I didn't scream? In my world, we don't scream. We liquidate."
"Olivia!" Barrett shouted, finally losing whatever fragile grip he had left on his composure. He lunged forward, his face red, veins bulging in his neck. "You ruined my life! I made you! Without me, you're just a rich girl playing businesswoman with her daddy's money!"
The moment the words left his mouth, the entire room went completely dead. Even the city lights outside seemed to blur.
I didn't flinch. I didn't cry. I just tilted my head, looking at the man I had loved for a decade, realizing how truly pathetic he was.
"My father gave me an empire, Barrett," I whispered, stepping close enough that he could smell my Dior perfume—the one Sasha tried to copy. "You were just a temporary tenant. And your lease is officially terminated."
I turned my back on him, walking toward the private elevator at the end of the suite.
May you like
As the glass doors slid open, I heard Barrett smash a crystal wine glass against the wall behind me, screaming my name into the empty air of the Dallas sky.
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