A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple, ruining his perfectly styled hair. His face—red with rage just seconds ago—drained to an ashen gray. His knees buckled, and the man who believed himself untouchable collapsed onto the Persian rug he had always forbidden me to step on.
“This… this can’t be real,” he stammered, his voice cracking, nothing like the alpha tone he used to humiliate me. “It’s fake. You forged this. You’re a criminal!”
I stood my ground. Inside, my heart was pounding—not from fear of him, but from the adrenaline of knowing justice had finally arrived. I glanced toward the staircase. Little Ethan, just six years old, stood there clutching the railing. I subtly motioned for him not to come down. This wasn’t something a child should witness—but it was something I had to do for his future.
“Read it out loud, Mr. Cole,” I said calmly. I was no longer speaking as his employee. I was speaking as what I truly was in that moment—his legal executioner.
“Or, if you prefer, I can call the family attorneys. They’re already on their way.”