Chapter 3 - The Unraveling at the Office
Two days later, Michael walked into the corporate headquarters on the forty-second floor, expecting another routine morning of barking orders at his assistants and delegating work he was too lazy to finish. Instead, he found the executive boardroom doors locked, with two burly private security guards standing outside in identical black suits.
According to my executive assistant, who kept me informed via secure encrypted text messages, Michael tried to flash his usual arrogant grin and brush past them.
“Excuse me, boys, I have a board meeting to run,” Michael had snapped, reaching for the brass handle.
The larger guard didn't budge an inch. “Mr. Vance, your card access has been revoked. You are directed to report immediately to Conference Room B.”
Furious and bewildered, Michael stormed down the hallway, bursting into Conference Room B. He expected to find his corporate associates. Instead, he found me sitting at the head of the mahogany table, flanked by Margaret and two senior forensic auditors carrying heavy metal briefcases.
Michael stopped dead in his tracks, his face draining of color. “Claire? What the hell is going on here? Why are security guards blocking my office?”
I didn't stand up. I didn't blink. I simply pointed to the empty leather chair opposite me.
“Sit down, Michael,” I said quietly, the authority in my voice making him flinch.
“Are you out of your mind?” Michael scoffed, trying to laugh off the tension as he crossed his arms defensively. “Is this some kind of pathetic retaliation because I didn't bow down to your demands about Erin? You brought lawyers to my office? Have you lost your damn mind, Claire?”
Margaret slid a single document across the table. “Read page four, Michael. Specifically the section regarding the fraudulent transfer of trust funds and corporate forgery.”
Michael picked up the paper, his eyes scanning the lines. Within seconds, the arrogant smirk vanished entirely. His hands began to tremble so violently that the paper rustled loudly in the quiet room.
“This… this is a mistake,” Michael stammered, looking up at me with panicked eyes. “Someone doctored these books! An accountant made an error! Claire, you know me, I would never—”
“You forged my signature, Michael,” I interrupted, my tone icy. “You stole our children's college funds to buy townhouses and designer bags for your mistress. You treated my father’s legacy like your personal ATM, and you thought you were smart enough to get away with it because you assumed I was too passive to ever look under the hood.”
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Michael slammed his hands onto the table, his composure finally shattering. “You can’t do this to me! I built this firm! I am the face of this company! Without me, you’re nothing!”
“No, Michael,” I stood up, smoothing down my blazer. “You were just the mascot. I own the controlling shares. And as of right now, you are fired, you are locked out of every corporate account, and a criminal referral has been filed with the federal prosecutor's office.”
