Chapter 8 - The Collateral Damage
The screen flickered slightly as Samantha struggled to regain her composure, her lips parting in a thin, nervous line.
“I don't know what kind of paranoid delusion you're spinning,” Samantha recovered, her voice rising defensively. “Brendan and I have a strictly professional relationship governed by corporate oversight. Whatever financial structures exist between us were approved through standard executive channels—channels that your little husband oversaw himself.”
“Ximena approved them under Brendan’s direct orders,” I replied, my tone never wavering. “Using the exact authorization codes assigned to dependent healthcare disbursements. Every time Ximena stamped Under Review on Chloe’s chemotherapy and specialized cardiology meds, a matching wire transfer hit your Delaware trust account within twenty-four hours.”
Samantha stepped back from the camera, her eyes darting nervously toward the floor-to-ceiling windows of the penthouse. “That’s... that’s completely absurd. An internal accounting discrepancy doesn't give you the right to harass Fairchild employees or freeze private assets. The legal department is already drafting an injunction—”
“Your legal department doesn't exist anymore, Samantha,” I cut in smoothly. “The entire corporate legal team was dismissed at noon today when Vance-Holdings took receivership. Right now, the only person with the authority to sign your payroll—or authorize your continued residence in that building—is sitting right here in this chair.”
A heavy, suffocating pause hung over the video feed. Samantha’s professional mask cracked completely, the glossy, untouchable corporate strategist evaporating to reveal a terrified woman standing in a home she suddenly realized didn't belong to her.
“What do you want?” Samantha whispered, her voice losing its defensive edge.
“I don't want anything from you,” I said quietly. “You were just a convenient instrument for a man who values status over human life. But if you want to walk away from this without being named as a co-conspirator in a federal wire fraud and embezzlement indictment, you’re going to do exactly what Raymond tells you to do within the next twenty minutes.”
Before Samantha could answer, I terminated the call, plunging the screen back into darkness.
I looked across the desk at Raymond, who was watching me with a look of profound, respectful assessment.
“You’re playing a very dangerous game, Nora,” Raymond said quietly. “Targeting the executives is one thing, but dragging the mistress into a direct confrontation can trigger unpredictable blowback. Brendan is unhinged. If he realizes Samantha is turning on him to save herself, he might do something reckless.”
“Let him,” I said, standing up from the desk and walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the bustling Michigan Avenue traffic below. “Desperation makes people sloppy. Brendan has spent his entire life hiding behind corporate shields and legal technicalities. I want him out in the open, where everyone can see what he really is.”
“What are your next steps?” Raymond asked, stepping up beside me.
“We dismantle the public illusion,” I said, watching a sleek black sedan pull up to the curb outside the corporate tower. A familiar figure stumbled out of the passenger side—Brendan, looking disheveled, his tie missing, his coat collar turned up against the chilly autumn wind. He stood on the pavement, staring up at the forty-second-floor windows, his face twisted in a mask of impotent rage.
“He’s coming back up,” I noted softly.
“Security won't let him past the lobby,” Raymond said.
“Let him up, Raymond,” I turned to face the attorney, a cold, sharp smile touching my lips. “Let him up through the private service elevator. I want him to sit in the very chair he used to bully everyone from, and I want him to watch us dismantle his final sanctuary.”
Raymond hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded slowly. He tapped a command into his tablet.
“Done,” Raymond said. “The service elevator is unlocked. He’ll be at the boardroom doors in three minutes.”
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I walked back to the head of the table, seated myself, and folded my hands neatly over the mahogany wood.
“Let’s see what a king looks like when he has no crown left to hide behind.”
