“Demanding,” Linda smiled. “She’s convinced Gavin is about to hit the big time. She’s been charging designer bags to the company card. Gavin is currently three months behind on the office rent.”
“Which I now own,” I reminded her.
“Correct, Ma’am.”
“It’s time for an audit,” I said. “I want a full forensic look at Apex’s books. I want to know every cent he stole from the company to pay for his affair. And I want the eviction notice drafted for the house.”
The house. The one he “graciously” took from me. The balloon payment was due in thirty days. He didn’t have the money. He had been banking on the Miller account to refinance.
I was no longer the anchor. I was the tide, and the tide was going out.
Chapter 4: The Boardroom and the Truth
Monday morning arrived with the clinical coldness of a winter dawn.
Gavin walked into his office at Apex Growth Solutions, feeling like a king. He was wearing a new Italian suit he couldn’t afford, clutching a Starbucks latte. He smiled at Monica, who was sitting at the front desk, draped in a scarf that cost more than my monthly rent used to be.
“Morning, beautiful,” Gavin said. “Any word from the new owners of Sterling Credit? I want to see if we can push that payment back another month.”
“They’re actually here,” Monica said, looking a bit nervous. “A group of ‘representatives’ is in the boardroom. They said they’re performing a ‘mandatory operational audit’.”
Gavin’s smile faltered. “An audit? Now? I haven’t even had my coffee.”
He straightened his tie and walked into the boardroom. He expected to see a group of grey-suited men with calculators.
Instead, he saw a single chair turned toward the window.
“Gentlemen,” Gavin said, his voice brimming with false confidence. “I’m Gavin Vance, CEO. I assume there’s some confusion about our payment schedule—”
“There’s no confusion, Gavin,” a voice said.
The chair swiveled around.
Gavin stopped mid-sentence. His coffee cup slipped from his hand, splashing brown liquid across his expensive shoes.
“Elena?” he gasped. “What the hell are you doing here? Did you get a job with the cleaning crew?”
I sat there, wearing a bespoke Dior power suit, my hair cut into a sharp, professional bob. I looked at him with the same clinical indifference I would show a bug on a windshield.
“I’m the majority shareholder of Ballast Holdings,” I said. “The company that bought your debt. The company that owns this building. And the company that, as of ten minutes ago, has filed a criminal complaint against you for embezzlement of corporate funds.”
Gavin’s face went from white to a sickly shade of grey. “Shareholder? You? Elena, you’re a librarian. You don’t have enough money to buy a used car.”
I pushed a folder across the table.
“You should have checked the mail, Gavin. You were so eager for me to sign those divorce papers that you didn’t realize the ‘Ballast Trust’ was already in motion. You waived your right to any assets claimed after the signing. I claimed my lottery winnings two hours after you walked out of the apartment.”
The realization hit him like a physical blow. I watched his eyes dart around the room, trying to find a way out, a lie to tell, a charm to use. But the room was empty of allies.
“Lottery?” he whispered. “How much?”
“Fifty million,” I said. “And I’ve spent the first five million making sure you never work in this city again.”
Monica burst into the room. “Gavin! The bank is on the phone! They’re saying the house is under foreclosure! They’re saying the—”
She stopped when she saw me. She looked at my suit, my jewelry, and the way the board of directors (who had been standing in the shadows) bowed their heads to me.
“Elena?” Monica asked, her voice trembling.
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