Chapter 4 - The Counter-Strike
While Patricia spent four days wallowing in self-pity inside her mansion, her humiliation slowly transformed into a toxic, vengeful rage.
Accustomed to getting her way through intimidation, she realized that direct financial leverage over Ethan was gone. But Patricia was a woman with deep social connections across southern Arizona. She sat on the board of three regional charities, held substantial stock in several local businesses, and knew every influential family in the Tucson country club circuit.
If she couldn't break Claire financially, she decided she would destroy her socially and professionally.
On Thursday morning, Claire sat in her glass-walled office at Summit Creative Group, a premier digital marketing agency in downtown Tucson, where she worked as a Senior Director of Client Strategy.
Her office door swung open, and her boss, Marcus Vance—the CEO of the firm—walked inside. His expression was unusually tense, holding a folder in his hands.
“Claire,” Marcus said, closing the door behind him. “Do you have a few minutes? We need to discuss an unexpected development regarding our major account renewal.”
Claire set her pen down and gestured toward the guest chair. “Of course, Marcus. Is there an issue with the Vanguard Health renewal?”
Marcus sat down, letting out a long, uncomfortable sigh. “Not Vanguard. It’s the Miller Heritage Foundation account—and the three commercial real estate accounts associated with Patricia Miller’s network.”
Claire’s eyes narrowed slightly, though her expression remained completely calm. “What about them?”
“Patricia Miller called my personal cell phone an hour ago,” Marcus revealed, looking at Claire with deep concern. “She informed me that unless Summit Creative Group terminates your employment contract immediately, she will pull all four client retainer accounts from our agency by the end of the business week. That’s nearly four hundred thousand dollars in annual billings for our firm, Claire.”
Claire felt a cold surge of disgust, not at Marcus, but at the sheer, relentless pettiness of her mother-in-law. Patricia was trying to starve her out by taking away her career.
“Marcus,” Claire said quietly. “You know my work performance here. I’ve brought in three major national accounts over the last two years.”
“I know, Claire!” Marcus said quickly, holding his hands up. “You’re one of our most valuable executives! I don't want to fire you! But four hundred thousand dollars in lost retainers would force us to lay off four junior designers in your department. She’s putting me in a terrible position.”
Claire leaned back in her chair, looking out the floor-to-ceiling window at the desert city below.
Then, a small, confident smile spread across her lips.
“Marcus,” Claire asked smoothly. “Who is the largest donor and equity investor for the Tucson Arts & Children’s Hospital Trust that Summit Creative has been trying to land for the past three years?”
Marcus blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in topic. “The Hawthorne Logistics Trust. It’s an exclusive multi-million-dollar philanthropic endowment out of Chicago. We’ve been trying to get a meeting with their board chairman for eighteen months, but their legal team shields them completely.”
Claire pulled her leather briefcase onto her desk, unzipped it, and pulled out a gold-embossed business card bearing the family crest of Hawthorne Logistics & Financial Holdings.
She slid the card across the mahogany desk toward Marcus.
Marcus picked up the card, reading the gold lettering: CLAIRE HAWTHORNE-MILLER — MANAGING DIRECTOR & TRUST BENEFACTOR.
Marcus’s jaw literally dropped. He looked up at Claire, his eyes wide with utter shock. “Claire... you’re... you’re the Hawthorne trustee?”
“My grandfather built Hawthorne Logistics, Marcus,” Claire stated calmly. “My personal trust owns forty-two percent of their liquid distribution shares. Next week, the Hawthorne Foundation is announcing a six-million-dollar expansion endowment for the Children’s Hospital.”
She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the desk.
“If Patricia Miller wants to pull her four hundred thousand dollars in retainer accounts from this agency,” Claire said, her voice dripping with absolute authority, “let her. Summit Creative Group can sign an exclusive ten-year marketing contract with the Hawthorne Endowment by tomorrow afternoon—worth one point two million dollars annually.”
Marcus stared at the gold card, then at Claire, his face transforming from anxious panic into sheer, unadulterated awe.
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“She tried to use four hundred thousand dollars to bully you out of a job?” Marcus breathed, letting out a wild, breathless laugh. “She has no idea who she’s messing with!”
“No, she doesn't,” Claire said softly, picking up her pen. “Call Patricia back, Marcus. Tell her that Summit Creative Group accepts her account cancellations effective immediately.”
