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THE MILLION-DOLLAR EXIT: HOW THEY LOST EVERYTHING IN 72 HOURS / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - The Unraveling

The room erupted into absolute chaos before the timer had even begun.

"You can't do this!" Uncle Marcus screamed, slamming his hands onto the table and leaning over toward me. "We built this company! Your grandfather built this company! You're destroying a family legacy out of petty spite!"

"My grandfather built a company on integrity and hard work," I replied, not even blinking as Marcus loomed over me. "You and my father turned it into a slush fund for your inflated lifestyles while running it into the ground. Don't talk to me about legacy."

Daniel turned on his father with sudden, venomous fury. "This is all your fault! If you hadn't humiliated her on stage—if you had just kept your mouth shut for five minutes—she wouldn't have dropped the hammer! You couldn't resist showing off, and now we're homeless!"

"Shut up, you ungrateful little bastard!" Arthur roared back, grabbing Daniel by the lapel of his crumpled shirt. "I bought you everything you ever had! I gave you an executive title you were too incompetent to earn!"

"Stop it! Both of you, stop it!" Melissa shrieked, bursting into tears as she clutched her designer handbag like a shield. "Sign the paper, Arthur! Just sign the damn paper! I’m not spending the rest of my life in a public housing project because of your ego!"

The rest of the family joined the chorus, a pathetic cacophony of weeping, shouting, and desperate finger-pointing. The illusion of unity that had held the Vance family together through decades of mutual hypocrisy shattered into a thousand jagged pieces under the pressure of actual consequences.

I sat back in my chair, watching them tear each other apart with detached fascination. People who had looked down on me for years were now grovelling for crumbs of mercy, destroying one another without any outside help from me at all.

Arthur looked around the room, his eyes wide and hollow. He saw the faces of the people who had cheered his cruel joke on Saturday night—now twisted in terror and hatred toward him.

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With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his heavy gold fountain pen, and uncapped it.

"Where..." Arthur’s voice broke into a dry rasp. "Where do I sign?"

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