Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Hostage
By nine o'clock the following morning, the news of the scandal had already ripped through the city's financial sector like wildfire. Smartphone footage of Raymond Marquetti claiming Hazel at the altar had racked up eight million views across multiple social platforms before dawn. The tabloids called it the Cinderella Heist of the Century.
Hazel barely recognized herself in the mirror. Gone was the threadbare gray dress. In its place was a custom-tailored emerald silk pantsuit that matched the color of her eyes, complete with Christian Louboutin pumps that made her stand two inches taller. Around her slender left ring finger sat a breathtaking eight-carat emerald-cut diamond ring, surrounded by a pavé halo of platinum.
Raymond stood beside her in the mirrored elevator of the Hollis Academy Corporate Headquarters, adjusting his silver cufflinks.
""Chin up, Mrs. Marquetti,"" he warned quietly, his voice an anchor. ""They are sharks. The moment they smell hesitation, they bite.""
""I used to grade papers for these board members' children,"" Hazel muttered, adjusting the emerald lapel. ""They looked right through me.""
""Today, they will look up at you.""
The elevator doors chimed and slid open onto the thirty-fourth floor.
The chaos was instantaneous. Telephones were ringing off their hooks. Assistants were scurrying across the floor with stacks of blue folders, while two dozen armed private security contractors—Raymond's men—stood stationed at every doorway like stone statues.
Raymond pushed open the frosted glass doors to the main boardroom without knocking.
Inside, the entire board of directors was gathered in absolute panic. Grant Hollis stood at the head of the table, his eyes bloodshot, his designer shirt wrinkled, and sweat plastering his thinning hair to his forehead. Sloan sat beside him, weeping hysterically into a silk handkerchief, her mascara running in ugly gray tracks down her cheeks.
""I don't care what the bank said!"" Grant was screaming, slamming both fists onto the glass table. ""You can't freeze the operational account on a Monday! We have fifty thousand dollars in marketing rolling out at noon!""
""The marketing is canceled, Grant,"" Hazel's clear, steady voice cut through the shouting.
The entire room froze. Every single head swung toward the doorway.
Grant stopped dead in his tracks. His mouth hung open like a hooked fish as his eyes scanned her—the luxury suit, the flawless hair, the diamond flashing with blinding ferocity under the fluorescent lights, and the giant of a man looming half a step behind her with his hands in his pockets.
""Hazel?"" Grant choked out, his voice cracking. ""What... what the hell is this? What are you doing here?""
""She's here to inspect her property,"" Raymond said casually, strolling over to the far end of the table and pulling out the massive leather executive chair. He gestured for Hazel to take it.
Hazel didn't flinch. She walked the length of the room with steady, graceful strides, the click of her designer heels echoing like thunder. She sat in the chairman's seat, resting her manicured hands over the documents spread across the blotter.
""You're trespassing,"" Sloan hissed, jumping to her feet, pointing an accusing finger at Hazel. ""Grant, call the police! Have this pathetic little beggar thrown out of the building! She's nothing! She's a third-grade teacher!""
""The police won't be coming, Sloan,"" Raymond remarked smoothly, his eyes flashing with lethal amusement. ""Chief Davies happens to be a very close personal friend of my family. In fact, he is currently reviewing the tax evasion files your father submitted regarding the harbor renovations.""
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Sloan's face went completely bloodless. She sank back into her chair, her hands shaking uncontrollably.
""Grant,"" Hazel said, leaning forward, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. ""You told me last night that if I could find a better man, I should go find him. I did. And unlike you, my husband doesn't steal ideas from the people who keep him alive.""
