Chapter 7 - The Executive Suite
The private elevator ride to the forty-fifth floor was silent, save for the soft chiming of the floors passing by.
When the polished brass doors slid open, the executive lobby was deserted. The cowering assistants and sycophantic vice-presidents who had once bowed to Julian and Eleanor had already cleared out their desks or were waiting in the boardroom for their pink slips.
Jonathan walked beside me, holding the heavy mahogany double doors of the main executive office open wide.
The room was breathtaking. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the entire city stretching out beneath the morning sun. At the far end of the room sat a massive, hand-carved mahogany desk—the exact desk from which Julian had casually handed me divorce papers just nine months ago, believing he had discarded me forever.
I walked slowly across the plush oriental rug, my heels clicking with a rhythmic, confident cadence.
I carried my son to the high-backed leather executive chair, gently placed him in a cushioned bassinet set up beside the desk, and then sat down in the leather chair.
It fit perfectly.
The intercom buzzer on the desk blinked softly. I pressed the flashing button.
“Mrs. Vance?” the voice of the new chief of legal counsel came through crisp and clear. “The emergency board of directors is assembled in the main conference room. They’re waiting for your opening address.”
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I looked down at my son, who let out a soft, contented sigh in his sleep, and then raised my eyes to the glass doors reflecting the sprawling city outside.
“Tell them,” I said, my voice steady, powerful, and absolute, “that Vivian Vance is ready for the meeting.”
