Chapter 4 - The Fall of Genevieve Vance
While Julian’s corporate kingdom was collapsing at Ward Logistics, Genevieve Vance was facing her own personal nightmare across town at the glass-paneled headquarters of Vance Public Relations.
By 10:00 AM, three delivery vans were parked outside her office building.
Inside her plush executive suite, workers in grey jumpsuits were actively disconnecting computer monitors, wrapping sleek designer furniture in bubble wrap, and carrying out filing cabinets.
Genevieve stood in the middle of her office in a manic state, screaming into her phone.
"You can't repossess my office furniture! I paid for this!"
"Miss Vance," a man in a black suit holding a clipboard said calmly, stepping into her office. "This furniture was leased under a line of credit backed by First National Bank. As of 8:30 this morning, First National called in your equipment loan due to a default on your agency's liquidity ratio."
"Call my lawyer!" Genevieve roared.
"Your lawyer dropped you thirty minutes ago, ma'am," the man replied, completely unfazed. "He cited non-payment of retainers."
Genevieve sank into her remaining desk chair, her hands shaking violently. Her phone rang again. She snatched it up, hoping against hope that it was a client offering sympathy.
"Hello?!"
"Genevieve," a cold, dark voice spoke over the line. It was her primary investor, Arthur Pendelton—a powerful political operative who had funded fifty percent of her agency start-up.
"Arthur!" Genevieve sobbed into the phone. "Arthur, you have to help me! The Blackwood family is destroying my agency! They’re pulling my credit, taking my furniture, canceling my clients!"
"I know," Pendelton said, his voice flat and terrifyingly quiet. "Because Arthur Blackwood called me personally twenty minutes ago."
Genevieve froze. "What did he say?"
"He told me that if my name remains associated with Vance Public Relations by noon today, Blackwood Media will release the complete financial audit of my political action committee to the State Attorney General."
Genevieve felt a cold sweat break out across her neck. "Arthur... you can't abandon me!"
"I am not just abandoning you, Genevieve," Pendelton said bitterly. "I am stripping you of every asset you hold in that firm. I’ve already transferred the master client accounts to a subsidiary firm. You are done. You are finished in this city."
"Arthur, please! I didn't know!" Genevieve wept, clutching the phone with both hands. "I didn't know Eleanor was his daughter! It was just a little paint! It was just a child's drawing!"
"It wasn't paint, Genevieve," Pendelton hissed before hanging up. "It was your character. And you showed the entire city what a shallow, cruel monster you are."
The phone went dead.
Two minutes later, the door to her office opened again. Two uniformed police officers stepped inside, accompanied by a female investigator wearing a badge.
Genevieve looked up in terror. "What is this now?! I haven't committed a crime!"
The female investigator stepped forward, pulling a document from her folder. "Genevieve Vance? I am Investigator Morales from the State Department of Financial Regulation."
"Financial Regulation?" Genevieve gasped.
"We received an anonymous corporate whistle-blower report at 7:00 AM today containing six years of tax filings and expense ledgers from Vance Public Relations," Investigator Morales announced. "It appears you have been misclassifying personal luxury purchases—including designer clothing, private vacations, and personal cosmetic procedures—as tax-deductible corporate business expenses."
Genevieve’s breath hitched in her throat. Her mind raced back to every dress, every trip to Cabo, every luxury handbag she had billed to her agency's corporate account over the last three years.
"That... that was legal accounting!" Genevieve stammered, backing away toward the window.
"The State Tax Franchise Board disagrees," Morales said coldly. "We have a warrant for the seizure of all digital servers and financial records. Furthermore, you are required to report to the State Prosecutor's office on Monday morning for formal questioning regarding tax fraud."
Genevieve stood frozen in the middle of her ruined office.
The workers pulled her desk out from under her elbows, leaving her standing alone on a bare carpet, surrounded by empty walls where her awards used to hang.
May you like
She looked down at her hands—the same hands that had pushed away Maya’s watercolor painting twenty-four hours ago.
She had been so worried about a blue paint mark ruining a three-thousand-dollar silk dress. Now, she didn't even have a chair to sit on, a client to call, or a reputation left to protect.
