"We're doing this for your own good. Don't be ungrateful."
"Think it over carefully. If you can't come around... I have no problem replacing Mrs. Stephens."
The door slammed behind him.
I stared at the trembling frame, then crumpled onto the sofa.
I sat there, hollow, until dawn.
Early the next morning, Victor Whitney called.
"I studied all the materials last night, just as you requested."
"It's entirely feasible."
"Unless he'd prefer to spend the rest of his life in prison."
My voice came out quiet. Steady.
"Good. Prepare to move."
At three o'clock that afternoon, I summoned every senior executive to the boardroom.
I wore a black tailored suit, ten-centimeter heels clicking against the marble, my face revealing nothing.
Behind me followed Attorney Whitney and three senior forensic auditors. Each one carried a stack of files thick enough to break a table.
The conference room fell silent. Every eye locked onto me.
Duke had already claimed the head of the table. Stacy was draped against his side, wrapped in Chanel haute couture, wearing the smug little smile of someone who believed she'd already won.
Gone was the timid girl who used to look at me with grateful eyes.