Chapter 3 - A TOAST TO THE END
As the main course arrived—a beautifully seared wagyu beef that smelled of money and arrogance—Brenda was in her element.
She regaled the associates with stories of her youth,
of how she had built herself up from nothing,
ignoring the fact that she had lived off her late husband’s pension for twenty years.
“Success requires sacrifice,”
she said,
looking pointedly at me.
“Some people just don't have the stomach for what it takes to stay on top.”
Connor nodded vigorously,
trying to look like a powerful CEO.
“Exactly,
Mom.
That’s why Apex is expanding.
We’re about to finalize a massive acquisition that will change everything.”
He was talking about the money they had stolen from my house.
He was talking about the liquidation of my life.
Mr. Sterling,
one of the older associates,
leaned forward.
“I heard there were some audits being conducted in the tech sector,
Connor.
Is Apex ready for that?”
Connor’s hand flickered for a split second,
his fork clinking against the porcelain plate.
“Audits are for companies with something to hide,”
he said,
regaining his composure.
“We are perfectly transparent.”
I almost laughed out loud.
Transparency was the last thing Connor understood.
I took a small bite of my steak,
savoring the flavor,
knowing it was the last meal they would ever eat as free citizens.
“You know,”
I said,
interrupting Brenda’s next anecdote.
“I was looking at some old files from my father’s office recently.”
The table went quiet.
Brenda’s eyes turned into icy slits.
“Jessica,
dear,
no one wants to hear about your father’s dusty old papers,”
she said sharply.
“I found something interesting about shell companies,”
I continued,
ignoring her.
“Specifically companies that use family initials as their names.
Like 'B-Line,'
for example.”
Connor’s face turned a pale shade of gray.
He tried to speak,
but his throat seemed to have closed up.
“What are you talking about?”
Brenda hissed,
her voice low and dangerous.
“Oh,
just a coincidence,
I’m sure,”
I replied,
picking up my wine glass.
“But the investigator I spoke to didn't think it was a coincidence at all.”
I looked at my watch.
It was 7:45 PM.
The timing had to be perfect.
“He found it fascinating how money could move from a medical tech fund into a private real estate account in the Caymans.”
The business associates were looking from me to Connor,
the atmosphere in the room shifting from mockery to pure,
unadulterated tension.
Brenda reached under the table,
likely to kick me again,
but I moved my legs out of her reach.
“You’re drunk,”
Connor stammered,
his voice cracking.
“You’re making things up again.
I told you all she was having a hard time lately.”
He looked at his guests,
desperate for their support.
But they were business people,
and they could smell blood in the water.
“I’ve never been more sober,
Connor,”
May you like
I said.
“And I’ve never been more sure of the numbers.”
