Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn
“Calm down, Nathan, you’ll ruin your party,” I said smoothly, leaning back in my leather office chair.
“Are you out of your mind?!” he roared, stepping away from the crowd into a quiet hallway to escape the noise of panicking guests and bewildered relatives. “My parents are standing right here! Our friends, local investors, and business partners are locked inside my parents' house, and security is telling us we’re trespassing on commercial property! Fix this right now, or I swear to God I will—"
“You’ll what?” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his threats like a razor-sharp blade. “You’ll ban us from another family event? Oh wait, you already did that tonight when you told me there was no room for me and your daughter because you were too busy playing house with Brooke.”
There was a dead, suffocating silence on the other end of the line. Nathan’s breath hitched. “You... you know about Brooke?”
“I’ve known for months, Nathan. Just like I knew you were embezzling from our restaurant accounts to fund her lifestyle. And more importantly, just like I knew that this mansion—the very roof over your head right now—doesn't belong to your parents anymore. It belongs to the corporate entity that I legally manage and control.”
“That’s... that’s impossible,” Nathan stammered, his voice cracking with panic. “The deed—my parents said—”
“Your parents almost lost this house to foreclosure three years ago,” I reminded him coldly. “I’m the one who signed the buyout checks. I’m the one who structured the holding agreement. And tonight, because of your financial fraud, your blatant adultery, and your deliberate breach of corporate trust, I’ve exercised my legal right as managing trustee to foreclose on the property and freeze all corporate assets.”
Footsteps echoed heavily in the background as Nathan’s father marched down the hallway toward him, demanding answers. I could hear his mother sobbing hysterically in the distance, realizing they had just been rendered homeless on Christmas night because of their son's arrogant stupidity.
“Clara, please,” Nathan begged, his arrogant facade completely shattered, replaced by the pathetic whimper of a man standing over the smoking ruins of his own life. “We can talk about this! We have a family! Don’t do this to us on Christmas—think of Lily!”
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“I am thinking of Lily,” I answered steadily. “Which is why she is sleeping peacefully in her own bed right now, while you and your mistress figure out where you’re going to spend the night in the freezing snow.”
I ended the call, blocked his number permanently, and closed my laptop lid with a soft, satisfying click.
