Chapter 6 - The Fifty-First Board
The executive elevator rose fifty floors in silence, the digital floor indicator climbing rapidly: 10... 20... 30... 40... 50.
When the doors slid open with a soft chime, the grand foyer of the 50th floor was quiet. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a sweeping view of downtown Houston, the rain-slicked streets far below gleaming like rivers of melted gold.
Standing outside the heavy double glass doors of the boardroom were two private security guards Ethan had hired for the evening.
When they saw me step out of the elevator—a tall, commanding woman in a four-thousand-dollar suit, walking with absolute purpose—they froze, momentarily caught off guard by my appearance.
"Ma'am, this floor is restricted for a private board meeting," one of the guards said, stepping forward, his hand resting on his belt.
I didn't slow down. I reached into my clutch, pulled out my high-level CAO security badge—the one Arthur had secretly reactivated four hours ago—and pressed it against the wall reader beside the glass doors.
The scanner beeped blue. The double glass doors unlatched with a sharp click.
Inside the boardroom, Ethan was standing at the head of a twenty-foot mahogany table, a montblanc pen in his hand, gesturing toward a large presentation screen displaying the final liquidation vote.
Sitting to his right was Vanessa, looking radiant in an ivory silk dress, smiling down at her tablet. Sitting to his left was Julian Vance, alongside the six members of the board of directors.
Arthur sat at the far end of the table, his arms crossed over his chest, his face an unreadable mask of stone.
"—and so, with the board's approval," Ethan was saying, raising his pen to sign the dissolution document, "we will officially close this tragic chapter in Bennett Enterprises' history and move forward into a new era of—"
I pushed the glass doors open.
They swung wide, hitting the interior stoppers with a loud, ringing reverberation that cut through the acoustics of the room like a gunshot.
Every head at the table snapped toward the entrance.
Ethan didn't stop talking immediately; his mouth remained half-open, a smug smile frozen on his lips as his eyes locked onto me.
Vanessa dropped her crystal glass of water. It shattered against the polished hardwood floor, splashing cold water across her designer shoes.
Silence—absolute, suffocating silence—fell over the fifty-floor boardroom.
I walked slowly into the room, my four-inch heels striking the floor with rhythmic, deliberate precision. I didn't look at the board members. I didn't look at Julian. I kept my eyes locked entirely on my ex-husband's face.
May you like
I saw the exact moment the blood drained from his cheeks. I saw his knuckles turn gray as his grip on the Montblanc pen tightened until the plastic groaned.
"Good evening, Ethan," I said, my voice smooth, quiet, and perfectly controlled. "I believe you were talking about my death?"
