Chapter 3: The Gathering Vultures
The Grand Ballroom at the Drake Hotel was a sea of silk, diamonds, and whispered conspiracies. Nicholas Valmont’s absence over the past few weeks had created a power vacuum, and the elite of Chicago’s financial sector were eager to fill it.
Iris stood near the back of the room, dressed in a simple, elegant black dress she had bought for the occasion. Nicholas had insisted she accompany him, not as a maid, but as his personal assistant for the evening. He claimed he needed someone he could trust to manage his medication and schedule, but Iris knew the truth: she was his anchor.
From across the room, she watched him. Nicholas looked every bit the emperor he was supposed to be. His tailored tuxedo fit perfectly, hiding the weight he had lost, and his posture was rigid, defying the illness that ravaged him from the within. He held a glass of champagne in his right hand, his fingers gripped tightly around the stem to conceal the tremor.
"He looks like a ghost trying to play king," a sharp voice muttered nearby.
Iris turned her head slightly to see Richard Valmont, Nicholas's uncle and the vice-chairman of Valmont Enterprises. Richard was a heavy-set man with predatory eyes and a smile that never reached his face. Beside him was Julian Vance, a rival hedge fund manager who had been trying to hostilely take over Valmont shares for a year.
"The rumors are true then," Julian whispered, sipping his drink. "The boy is sick. Look at his skin. He’s running the company into the ground because he’s too proud to admit he’s dying."
"The board is meeting tomorrow morning," Richard replied, his voice dripping with malice. "We have enough votes to trigger the incapacity clause. By noon tomorrow, Nicholas will be stripped of his CEO title, and I will take the chair. He won't even see it coming."
Iris felt a cold dread wash over her. Incapacity clause. They were going to legally remove him from the empire his father had built, the empire Nicholas had sacrificed his entire youth to expand.
She quickly made her way through the crowd, navigating the sea of socialites until she reached Nicholas’s side. He was currently trapped in a conversation with a city councilman, his face pale, a fine sheen of sweat breaking out near his hairline.
"Excuse me, Mr. Valmont," Iris said smoothly, stepping into the circle. "You have an urgent call from the Tokyo branch. It cannot wait."
Nicholas looked at her, and the relief in his eyes was palpable. "Ah, forgive me, Councilman. Duty calls."
He walked away with Iris, his steps hurried as they moved toward a quiet, dimly lit balcony overlooking Lake Michigan. The cool night air hit them, a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the ballroom.
The moment they were hidden from view, Nicholas collapsed against the stone balustrade, gripping the railing tightly. His breath came in ragged gasps, and the champagne glass slipped from his fingers, shattering on the stone floor. His entire right side was shaking violently now.
"Nicholas!" Iris cried softly, stepping forward and catching him before his knees could give out. She guided him to a stone bench, sitting beside him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders to offer stability.
"It's... it's getting worse," Nicholas choked out, his teeth chattering despite the warm summer air. "The medication... it isn't holding it back anymore."
"I heard Richard," Iris said urgently, rubbing his arms to warm him. "He’s calling a board meeting tomorrow morning at ten. They are going to use the incapacity clause to remove you."
Nicholas let out a hollow, defeated laugh, resting his head back against the stone wall. "Of course he is. Richard has wanted my chair since the day my father died. And the worst part is... he's right. Look at me, Iris. I can't even hold a glass. How am I supposed to run a multi-billion-dollar empire?"
"You fought for this company when it was failing, Nicholas," Iris said, her voice fiercely protective. "You can't let them take it from you like this. Not through a backroom betrayal."
Nicholas turned his head to look at her. The moonlight caught the tears forming in his eyes—tears of sheer frustration and helplessness. "Why do you care so much, Iris? If I lose everything, you can just find another job. You don't owe me your loyalty."
Iris looked at him, the distance between employee and employer completely dissolving in the quiet dark of the balcony.
"I don't care about the company, Nicholas," she said, her voice dropping to a vulnerable whisper. "I care about you. If you give up now, you're letting them win. You're letting them decide how your story ends. Don't let them take your dignity."
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Nicholas stared at her, his shaking slowly subsiding as he focused entirely on her face. For the first time, he saw past her professional boundary, seeing the raw, unadulterated devotion in her eyes. Slowly, he reached out his left hand—the stable one—and touched her cheek. His skin was cold, but his touch was incredibly gentle.
"Tomorrow," he whispered, his thumb brushing against her cheekbone. "We fight tomorrow. But tonight... just help me get home."
