Chapter 6 - The Name
The ink on the page looked blacker than the rest of the text, a thick, jagged scab where Ethan’s signature had died.
Cofounder-Pierce.
The hyphen sat between his name and Declan’s like a razor wire. Ethan stared at the screen of his phone long after the push notification faded into the lock screen’s gray wallpaper. The ticker symbol didn't matter. The press release didn't matter. What mattered was the quiet realization sinking into his chest like dry ice: Grace hadn't just beaten him in a boardroom coup; she had rewritten his identity before he even realized he was homeless.
Julian, standing by the mahogany credenza, cleared his throat. It was a small, dry sound, entirely devoid of satisfaction. Professionals of Julian’s tier did not gloat over carcasses; they simply measured the square footage.
“Mr. Calloway,” Julian said, extending a hand for the heavy silver pen still trapped in Ethan’s fingers. “The car is waiting in the basement bay. If you need assistance retrieving your personal items from the Park Avenue residence, security has already boxed your non-corporate effects.”
Ethan didn't move. His hand remained curled around the pen. The metal was losing its warmth, turning cold against his skin. “My house,” Ethan whispered, his voice scraped raw. “That’s my apartment. My name is on the lease. My grandfather’s art collection is on those walls.”
“The lease was held by Calloway & Vance Holding Trust,” Grace’s voice said from the doorway.
Ethan spun around. She hadn't gone down the private elevator with Declan. She stood in the threshold of the boardroom, her coat draped over her arm, her eyes clear and unbothered. She looked less like a woman who had just detonated her marriage and more like someone who had finally finished spring cleaning.
“The trust was dissolved under Section Four of the restructuring agreement you signed ten seconds before your phone lit up,” Grace said, walking slowly toward the table. She didn't look down at the blotched contract; she looked straight into his eyes. “The art belongs to the estate. The estate belongs to the new holding entity. You have forty-eight hours to clear your clothes out of the guest room. I’ve already had your personal wardrobe moved to a midtown executive suite I rented for you for two weeks.”
Ethan felt a hysterical laugh rise in his throat, burning the back of his palate. “You rented me a room? You’re treating me like a troublesome tenant who fell behind on rent?”
“No, Ethan,” Grace said softly, resting a hand against her stomach with a gesture that was entirely maternal yet utterly chilling. “A tenant has rights. You’re just a guest who overstayed his welcome.”
May you like
She turned and walked out, leaving him alone with Julian and the silent, indifferent glass walls of the forty-second floor.
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