Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
I didn't have to invite them to my office; my father brought the ambush directly to me. On Thursday afternoon, the heavy oak doors of my conference room swung open, and Robert Morrison marched in, flanked by my mother, Sabrina, and Derek. They looked like a victorious invading army, armed with leather portfolios and unearned arrogance.
I remained seated at the head of the long glass table, my hands steepled beneath my chin.
“We told your receptionist not to announce us,” my father said, tossing a thick legal document onto the center of the table. “We’re done playing games, Vivien. I had my lawyers draft the property transfer. You are going to sign it right now, or I swear to God, I will go to the senior partners of this firm and tell them you’re mentally unstable. I will destroy the reputation you’ve built.”
I looked at the document, then up at my father. The threat was laughable—I owned this firm, a fact he conveniently ignored in his rage—but the desperation in his voice was palpable.
“You would destroy your own daughter over a piece of real estate?” I asked, keeping my tone deceptively calm.
“You brought this on yourself, Viv,” Sabrina sneered, clinging to Derek’s arm. “You’re selfish. You’ve always been selfish. Derek and I have a future to build. A legacy.”
Derek flashed that same slick, practiced smile. “Come on, Vivien. Be reasonable. It’s just property. Family is forever.”
“You’re absolutely right, Derek,” I said, slowly rising from my chair. “Family is forever. And legacy is so terribly important.”
I picked up the transfer deed my father had thrown down and casually tore it cleanly down the middle, letting the pieces flutter onto the pristine glass table.
My mother gasped, stepping forward. “How dare you—”
“Sit down,” I commanded, my voice cracking through the room like a whip. It held the full, terrifying weight of a trial lawyer who had just trapped a hostile witness. The sheer force of it made my mother physically recoil and drop into the nearest chair.
I reached into my briefcase and pulled out four identical, neatly bound folders. I slid one across the table to each of them.
“I didn't bring you here to sign away my home,” I said, pacing slowly down the length of the table. “I brought you here to give you a wedding present. Go ahead, Derek. Open it. Show your new bride exactly what kind of legacy you’re bringing to the Morrison family.”
Derek stared at the folder, his confident smirk faltering. A bead of sweat formed at his temple. He didn't move.
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Impatient, Sabrina snatched the folder from in front of him and flipped it open. Her green eyes scanned the first page, then the second. Her brow furrowed in utter confusion. “Vivien, what is this? This says Sterling & Hayes is... insolvent. Overdrafts? Margin calls?”
“Keep reading, sweetheart,” I said softly. “Look at page four. That’s a list of Derek’s personal debts. Eight million dollars in the red. And page seven? That’s a drafted SEC subpoena. Your new husband isn't a brilliant investment banker, Sabrina. He’s a con artist running a crumbling Ponzi scheme, and he is a hair's breadth away from a federal penitentiary.”
