“Apex Logistics,” the lead lawyer, a sharp-eyed man named Vance, murmured, adjusting his glasses. “That’s a minor subsidiary we quietly acquired three years ago through a shell corporation, correct?”
“Correct,” I replied, leaning back in my leather chair, steepling my fingers. “Terminate his position immediately. Do not offer a severance package. Flag his file for insubordination and breach of corporate conduct. Ensure he is blacklisted from every logistics firm operating under the Sterling umbrella.”
Vance nodded, making a swift note. “Consider it done, Ms. Sterling. He’ll be cleared out of his office by noon tomorrow.”
“Furthermore,” I continued, my eyes narrowing. “The mortgage on the suburban property in his name is held by First Century Bank. Another Sterling asset.”
My father smiled grimly. “He’s late on his payments?”
“He has missed two consecutive payments because he insisted on buying a boat he couldn’t afford to impress his friends,” I stated coldly. “Initiate the foreclosure protocol immediately. Do not offer a grace period. Execute the accelerated clause in the loan agreement. Call in the entire debt.”
“They’ll be served notice within forty-eight hours,” Vance confirmed, closing the folder.
Meanwhile, forty miles away in the messy suburban house, the reality of my absence was rapidly deteriorating Ethan and Margaret’s victory party.
The maid, whom I had immediately cancelled and hired at double her salary to work in the East Wing of my estate, hadn’t shown up. The sink was piled high with crusty dishes. The laundry was overflowing. The house smelled faintly of stale garbage.
Margaret was standing in the kitchen, wearing rubber gloves, complaining loudly as she aggressively scrubbed a frying pan. “I don’t understand how she let it get this bad,” Margaret grumbled, completely ignoring the fact that she was the one creating the mess. “She was a terrible housekeeper.”
Ethan was sitting on the couch, drinking a beer, aimlessly scrolling through his phone. He hadn’t heard from me in two days. He was starting to feel a flicker of unease, but his arrogance quickly smothered it.
“Don’t worry, Mom,” Ethan called out confidently, taking a swig of his beer. “Her credit cards will bounce soon. She’s probably sitting in some cheap motel right now, realizing how hard it is out there without a man to provide for her. She’ll come crawling back by the weekend, begging to cook dinner and apologize.”
Ethan smugly tossed his empty beer bottle into the trash can, confident in his absolute, patriarchal supremacy. He leaned back on the beige sofa, completely, blissfully unaware that a sleek black courier van had just pulled into his driveway, carrying a stack of legal documents that would systematically, legally, and permanently vaporize his entire existence within the next five minutes.
Chapter 4: The Public Execution
