Chapter 3 - The Scapegoat’s RevengeHook: “Hell hath no fury like an assistant who just realized she was paid in empty promises.”At 7:00 AM, the headquarters of Grant Dynamics was surrounded by financial news crews. The story of the "Dinner Disaster at Aurelia" had leaked to Wall Street blogs by midnight, dropping the company's pre-market valuation by a staggering thirty-four percent.
In the corner office on the 45th floor, Clara Voss sat behind Nathan’s desk, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Her phone was ringing off the hook, but she didn't answer it.
The heavy glass door opened, and Nathan rushed in, smelling faintly of cheap scotch and stale coffee.
"Clara!" he barked, slamming the door behind him. "Packing your things! You need to leave through the basement exit. The press is downstairs."
Clara looked up slowly, her expression blank. "Leave? What do you mean, leave?"
"You're fired, Clara!" Nathan snapped, running a hand through his unwashed hair. "I just spent two hours on the phone with the board. They demanded a fall guy. I told them you went rogue, that you falsified the expense reports and instigated the fight at Aurelia. I had to protect the stock!"
Clara stood up slowly. The silver dress from last night had been replaced by a sharp, tailored black suit, but her left cheek still bore a faint red outline from Evelyn’s hand.
"A fall guy?" she repeated softly. "You blamed me?"
"Who else was I supposed to blame?!" Nathan shouted, throwing his hands in the air. "You slapped Evelyn! You blew up a fifty-million-dollar funding round because you couldn't keep your mouth shut at dinner! I gave you a position, a luxury apartment, access to high society, and you ruined everything!"
Clara let out a cold, bitter laugh that turned into a sob.
"You gave me an apartment? You put that apartment in your company's name, Nathan! You told me you were divorcing her this month! You told me she was a weak, emotionally unstable ghost who lived off your achievements!"
"She was supposed to be!" Nathan yelled back. "I didn't know she had been secretly pulling strings with the board behind my back!"
"She didn't pull strings, Nathan," Clara said, her voice suddenly dropping to a whisper that cut through his panic. "She didn't have to. She owned the strings all along."
Nathan froze. "What are you talking about?"
Clara reached into her leather handbag and pulled out a small silver flash drive. She held it between two fingers, her eyes glittering with dangerous intent.
"When you told me to transfer twelve million dollars to the shell account in the Cayman Islands last month, you said it was for 'tax optimization.' But I'm not stupid, Nathan. I made a copy of every authorization code, every wire transfer, and every message you sent me from your private phone."
Nathan’s face went dead white. "Clara... give me that drive."
"No," she said, stepping back toward the floor-to-ceiling glass window. "You told me last night that I was nothing. You let your wife slap me, and then you threw me to the wolves to save your own pathetic skin."
"Clara, put the drive down and let's talk about this!" Nathan took a step forward, his voice cracking with desperation. "I can give you money! I can give you five hundred thousand dollars cash today!"
"With what money?" Clara laughed wildly. "Evelyn froze your accounts two hours ago! Your credit cards are declined! You're broke, Nathan!"
Before Nathan could jump across the desk, the office doors swung open.
Two uniformed officers from the Federal Bureau of Investigation walked into the room, followed closely by two representatives from the Securities and Exchange Commission.
Behind them stood Evelyn Hartwell, wearing an immaculate white trench coat, her hands folded calmly in front of her.
"Nathan Grant?" the lead FBI agent said, pulling a gold badge from his suit jacket. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law."
Nathan dropped to his knees, his eyes darting frantically between Clara, the agents, and his wife.
"Evelyn... please... tell them!" Nathan sobbed. "It was Clara! She did the wire transfers! She framed me!"
Clara stepped past Nathan, handed the silver flash drive directly to the lead FBI agent, and looked down at her former lover.
"I may be a mistress, Nathan," Clara whispered, "but I'm not going to jail for your debt."
Evelyn watched her husband being handcuffed with absolute detachment. But as the agents pulled him to his feet, her phone vibrated in her hand.
It was a private message from an unknown number.
May you like
“The FBI is a nice distraction, Evelyn. But they don't know who really owns the Hartwell Trust. Look at the land registry for the Zurich accounts.”
Evelyn’s heart did a strange, sudden drop.
