Chapter 3 - THE FALL OF THE ASHFORD NAME
Garrick tried to speak,
his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water,
but no sound came out except for a pathetic,
high-pitched wheeze.
Miriam had followed us into the foyer,
her wine glass still in hand,
though her composure was beginning to fracture at the sight of the Commissioner.
"Now,
just a moment,"
Miriam said,
her voice trembling with a forced,
haughty indignation.
"This is a private residence,
and whatever domestic disagreement has occurred is none of your business."
"My son is the future of your company,
and you shouldn't be listening to the hysterical ramblings of a bitter mother-in-law."
Commissioner Fletcher stepped forward,
his uniform crisp and his expression unreadable,
though his eyes were fixed on the sling on Sienna’s arm.
"Actually,
Mrs. Ashford,"
Fletcher said,
his voice low and commanding,
"aggravated assault is very much my business."
"And when the person reporting it is a former Chief Prosecutor with more convictions than your son has suits,
I tend to take it very seriously."
Marcus Thorne looked at Garrick with a disgust so profound it seemed to fill the room like a physical weight.
"Garrick,"
Thorne said,
shaking his head slowly,
"I’ve known your family for a long time,
but I never knew you were a coward who hid behind his mother’s skirts after striking his wife."
Garrick finally found his voice,
though it was desperate and shrill.
"It was an accident!"
he shouted,
gesturing wildly toward Sienna,
who had slowly walked into the foyer,
standing behind me.
"She fell!
She’s being dramatic because she wants to ruin my career!"
"I’m the one who brought the Ashford name back to the top!"
"You can't do this to me!"
I stepped toward him,
and for the first time,
I let the mask of the polite guest fall,
revealing the predator I had been for thirty years in the courtroom.
"You didn't bring this name back,
Garrick,"
I said,
each word like a hammer blow.
"My husband and I saved this company with our own capital when your father was a week away from bankruptcy."
"We allowed the Ashford name to stay on the building out of a misplaced sense of loyalty to a dead man."
"But the Sterling-Vance Trust,
which I control,
holds the majority voting power."
The color drained from Miriam’s face,
and she dropped her wine glass,
the red liquid splattering across the white marble like a fresh wound.
"The trust?"
she whispered,
her hand flying to her throat.
"But that was an anonymous investment group..."
"It was me,
Miriam,"
I said,
turning my gaze to her.
"The woman you just called hysterical."
"The woman whose daughter your son 'taught a lesson' to today."
"I didn't come here today just for dinner."
"I came here to conduct a long-overdue audit of the Ashford character."
"And the results are in."
"You’re bankrupt."
Marcus Thorne stepped forward,
pulling a leather-bound folder from his briefcase.
"Garrick Ashford,"
he began,
reading from a prepared document,
"by the authority vested in me by the majority shareholders,
your employment with Ashford Industries is terminated,
effective immediately."
"You are stripped of all titles,
bonuses,
and access to company assets."
"The board will be meeting tomorrow morning,
May you like
not to promote you,
but to initiate a full investigation into your conduct."
