Chapter 7 - THE THREAD UNRAVELS
Nathaniel staggered backward,
as if the word terminated had been a physical blow to his chest.
He looked at the board members,
searching for a single face that would offer support,
but they all turned away.
Even his oldest allies,
men he had shared expensive dinners and golf games with,
looked at the floor.
They knew that to defend him now,
was to invite their own destruction.
Sienna was shaking,
her hands clutching the red fabric of the dress as if it could protect her from the storm.
The diamonds at her throat,
which had looked so brilliant under the lights,
now looked cheap,
tacky,
like glass beads on a fraud.
“Claire,
please,”
she whispered,
her voice cracking,
“I didn’t know,
I didn’t know about the money.”
I did not answer her,
because her ignorance was not my concern.
She had taken my husband,
she had taken my dress,
and she had willingly signed her name to documents that did not belong to her.
She had wanted the lifestyle of the CEO’s wife,
without understanding the price that had to be paid for it.
Daniel stepped forward,
taking the microphone from my hand.
“The security team will escort Mr. Whitmore and Ms. Vale from the premises,”
he announced,
his voice echoing with authority.
“The police are waiting downstairs to take their statements regarding the stolen IP.”
The word police sent a wave of panic through Sienna,
who let out a small,
stifled cry.
She looked at Nathaniel,
waiting for him to save her,
but he was too busy trying to save himself.
He tried to push past Daniel’s security men,
his face red,
his tuxedo shirt damp with sweat.
“You can’t do this!”
he screamed,
his voice cracking under the strain.
“I built this company!
Without me,
you are nothing,
Claire!”
I stood at the edge of the stage,
looking down at him with a mixture of pity and contempt.
“I didn't build the company,
Nathaniel,”
I said softly,
“I built you.”
“And just as easily as I put you together,
I can take you apart.”
The security guards grabbed his arms,
forcing them behind his back,
ignoring his protests as they led him toward the service elevator.
Sienna followed him,
stumbling in her high heels,
the red dress dragging on the dirty floor of the hallway.
The guests watched them go,
their silence heavier than any applause could ever be.
The reporters were still taking pictures,
their flashes illuminating the empty space where the golden couple had stood.
I turned back to the screen,
watching the financial documents fade away,
replaced by a simple,
elegant logo of the new company.
May you like
Whitmore was gone,
now it was just Claire’s legacy.
