Chapter 9 - The New Floor
By 3:00 PM, the news was official.
An press release was issued directly by the Board of Directors of Ashford Global: WALTER ASHFORD ANNOUNCES IMMEDIATE RETIREMENT FROM ASHFORD GLOBAL; ETHAN ASHFORD APPOINTED INTERIM CEO.
The public story was spun as a sudden health transition, but everyone in the high-stakes financial world of Chicago knew the truth: the billionaire had been completely ousted in an internal coup sparked by his own arrogance.
Walter left the building through the basement service exit—the very same exit I had walked through the night before—escorted by two private security officers, avoiding the dozens of reporters waiting near the front entrance.
Up on the 80th floor, the grand ballroom of Ashford Tower was completely empty.
The tables, the crystal glassware, the silk tablecloths, and the grand stage had been cleared away by the cleaning crew, leaving behind nothing but a vast, sweeping expanse of polished marble stretching toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the Chicago skyline.
The late afternoon sun was setting over the city, casting long, golden rays of light across the floor, painting the room in brilliant shades of amber, copper, and soft violet.
I stood near the center of the vast, empty room, my shoes off, feeling the cool, smooth stone under my bare feet.
The heavy double doors of the ballroom opened.
Ethan walked in. He had removed his suit jacket, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, his collar unbuttoned. He looked tired, but for the first time since I had met him, the heavy, suffocating shadow of his father's tyranny was gone from his face.
He walked across the vast floor toward me, his footsteps echoing softly in the quiet room.
"It's done," Ethan said, stopping two feet away from me. "The board approved the transition unanimously. My father signed the severance papers twenty minutes ago. He's moving permanently to his estate in Palm Beach."
"And your mother?" I asked softly.
"She’s going with him," Ethan said quietly. "She realized today that without Walter's corporate power, her social circle in Chicago no longer exists."
He looked around the empty, sunlit ballroom, then looked back at me, his dark eyes filled with a deep, quiet warmth.
"I fired the banquet management company this afternoon," Ethan revealed with a small smile.
I blinked, surprised. "Why?"
"Because," Ethan said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small blue folder, setting it in my hands, "I'm turning the entire top three floors of Ashford Tower into the Clara Vance International Academy of Performing Arts."
I stared at the folder in my hands, my heart thumping violently against my ribs. "Ethan... what?"
"A non-profit foundation," Ethan explained, his voice filled with immense pride. "Fully funded by the new Ashford Community Development Trust. We are providing free, elite-level classical dance training for underprivileged children and young adults from every corner of Chicago. And I want you to be the Artistic Director."
Tears, hot and sudden, well-up in my eyes. I looked down at the blueprints inside the folder—showing grand dance studios, mirrors, physical therapy suites, and a three-hundred-seat performance theater suspended high above the city.
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"Ethan..." I choked out, a sob rising in my throat. "I... I haven't taught in twelve years. I haven't danced regularly in a decade..."
"You outdanced a champion last night in a server uniform without shoes, Clara," Ethan said softly, taking a step closer, reaching out to gently wipe a stray tear from my cheek with the pad of his thumb. "You didn't lose your art twelve years ago. You just saved it for when it mattered most."
