Chapter 3 - The Master's Table
Gavin burst through the door, his tie undone, his hair disheveled, and his face flushed red with adrenaline. He slammed the door behind him, his breathing heavy.
"It’s a disaster, Nora!" he shouted, throwing his leather briefcase onto the couch. "Some idiot in regional operations recorded the entire stream! It’s already circulating on internal employee Slack channels! The CEO called me three times on my drive home!"
He paced across the hardwood floor, rubbing his temples, completely oblivious to the cold composure standing five feet in front of him.
"We have to issue a statement," Gavin continued rapidly, talking over himself. "We’ll say Camila was having a severe panic attack, or... or that she lost her balance and fell into my lap while trying to adjust the webcam. Yes! That works! And the necklace—we’ll say it was a promotional prop for our upcoming commercial real estate gala in Boston. You need to sign an affidavit saying you knew about the gift and approved it!"
He finally stopped pacing and looked at me.
I was standing near the fireplace, dressed in a plain cotton sweater, holding the red folder against my chest. My expression was totally unreadable.
"Did you hear me, Nora?" Gavin demanded, his tone turning sharp and impatient. "I need you to cooperate. My career is on the line here! If the board sees this as a moral violation, they could revoke my stock options! Do you have any idea what that would do to our lifestyle?!"
"Our lifestyle?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.
"Yes, our lifestyle!" he spat. "Who pays for this house? Who buys the food? Who covers Mia’s private preschool application fees? I do! You sit here all day while I grind sixty hours a week to keep this family afloat! So drop the dramatic silent treatment and help me fix this!"
I walked slowly toward the dining table. The insulated bag containing the dinner I had brought him sat on the counter, untouched.
"You give me eighteen hundred dollars a month, Gavin," I said softly. "You make me track every grocery receipt like a criminal. You made me feel guilty for buying a four-dollar iced coffee last Tuesday."
"Because we have a mortgage!" he snapped.
"The mortgage on this house is twenty-four hundred a month," I replied, stepping closer. "And Camila’s apartment in Back Bay costs thirty-two hundred. Her necklace cost one hundred and ten thousand dollars. That single necklace represents five years of the total allowance you grant your wife and daughter."
Gavin’s jaw tightened. "I told you, that was an investment—"
"Stop lying," I interrupted. The word hit the room like a crack of thunder.
Gavin flinched, startled by the sheer authority in my voice. He had never heard me speak like that. For three years, I had been soft, agreeable, and apologetic.
"I know about the two years, Gavin," I said. "I know about the apartment. I know about the weekend 'business trips' to Miami that matched Camila’s vacation posts on Instagram. And I know why you kept me in the dark."
Gavin let out a harsh, nervous laugh, trying to regain control of the conversation. "Oh, please. You're talking like a bitter housewife. What are you going to do, Nora? Divorce me? With what money? You haven't worked in three years. You don't have a lawyer. You don't even have enough savings to pay a retainer! If you leave me, you’ll be on the street, and I will make sure I get full custody of Mia because you can't provide for her!"
He took a step toward me, his eyes narrowing with cruel confidence. "You need me, Nora. You’ve always needed me. So sit down, shut up, and let me draft this press release."
I looked down at the red leather folder in my hands, then looked back up at his arrogant, sneering face.
"I opened the safe tonight, Gavin."
The color instantly drained from his face. The cruel smile vanished, replaced by a sudden, rigid stillness.
"What?" he whispered.
"My father’s safe," I said smoothly, stepping right up to him until we were standing toe-to-toe. "The one you told me was full of worthless old paper."
I untied the ribbon and slid the certified trust agreement out, holding it in front of his eyes.
"Do you recognize the name Sterling Apex Holdings, Gavin?"
Gavin stared at the letterhead. His eyes scanned the legal stamps, the signature of my father’s attorney, and the explicit clause defining the controlling equity of Summit Crest Group. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"You thought you were the master of Summit Crest," I whispered, leaning in closer so he could hear every syllable. "You thought you were building an empire while keeping your 'kept wife' on a leash. But you don't own five percent of a company you built, Gavin. You work for a company I own."
"Nora..." he stuttered, his voice suddenly shaking violently. "This... this is an old draft. Your father was confused before he died—"
"My father was sharp enough to catch you stealing three years ago," I said, pulling the investigative report out and slapping it flat against his chest. "He left me sixty percent controlling interest. And under Clause 14 B of this trust, your corporate position, your stock options, and your entire executive standing are subject to immediate termination upon proof of gross financial misconduct and personal perjury."
Gavin’s knees literally buckled. He grabbed the edge of the dining table to keep himself from falling. The man who had walked through the front door barking orders and threatening to take my daughter was now gasping for air like a drowning man.
"Nora... please," he pleaded, his voice breaking into a pathetic whine. "We can talk about this. I made a mistake. Camila means nothing to me! It was just a distraction! I love you! I love Mia! We’re a family!"
"We were a family," I corrected him, placing the red folder neatly on the table. "Now, you are just an employee facing an audit."
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and tapped the screen.
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"I’ve already forwarded a digital copy of this folder to Marcus Vance at Vance Legal Counsel," I said, watching his eyes widen in utter terror as he recognized the name of the most feared corporate litigation firm in New England. "The board of directors is receiving an emergency summons for eight o'clock tomorrow morning. You might want to get some sleep, Gavin. You have a very long presentation to make."
Without another word, I walked past him, went up the stairs, and locked the master bedroom door behind me, leaving Gavin standing alone in the dark, clutching his useless briefcase.
