Chapter 8 - The Cornered Rat
I leaned into the camera frame, letting the harsh overhead light of the conference room illuminate my face without a trace of pity or hesitation.
“Welcome to reality, Mark,” I said calmly. “It turns out that when you stop propping up a collapsing house of cards, gravity does the rest.”
“You did this?” Mark gasped, his eyes bulging in sheer disbelief. “You freezing our accounts? Emily, are you insane? I am sick! I am recovering from a major medical crisis! If I don't have access to capital, my treatment—my equipment—!”
“Your treatment is a lie, Mark,” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his theatrics like a scalpel. “Just like your business, just like your loyalty, and just like your devotion. I saw Unit 4B. I met Vanessa. And I know every single dollar you stole from me went toward funding your little coastal vacation.”
Mark froze, the color draining entirely from his face as the last shred of his manipulative facade disintegrated. “You... you went to the townhouse? Emily, listen to me, Vanessa meant nothing, she was just a—!”
“Save it for the judge,” I replied.
May you like
I tapped the red end-call button, plunging the screen back into darkness.
Harrison watched me with quiet admiration, sliding a fresh stack of retainer documents across the glass. “That, Mrs. Carter, was a masterclass in emotional detachment. Your husband’s little empire is officially insolvent by midnight.”
