Chapter 2 - THE SUNRISE SUMMONS
The penthouse was quiet save for the soft, rhythmic breathing of my daughter. I sat on the edge of Zoey’s bed, gently brushing a stray curl from her forehead. She had cried the whole ride home in the back of the town car, her small hands gripping the fabric of my dress, asking over and over if we were “bad people” because the lady in the sparkling dress had yelled at us. I had spent an hour reading her favorite fairy tales, assuring her that she was a princess and that the ballroom was simply closed for the night.
But as her eyes finally fluttered shut, the warmth in my chest hardened into absolute ice. I stood up, quietly pulling the bedroom door shut, and walked down the long, shadowed hallway to my home office.
My phone was already buzzing. It was 3:45 AM.
The screen illuminated the dark wood of my desk: Gregory Ashworth. I let it ring. He had been calling every fifteen minutes since I walked out of the Ritz-Carlton. His voicemails had shifted from nervous apologies to frantic begging, and finally, to breathless panic. He knew exactly what he stood to lose.
I picked up the landline instead, dialing my general counsel, Marcus Vance. He answered on the second ring, his voice sharp and awake.
"Eleanor. I heard about the gala. Are we accelerating the timeline?" Marcus asked.
"We are," I replied, staring out the floor-to-ceiling windows at the glittering skyline of the city. I owned a vast portion of that skyline, a fact I had kept intentionally quiet to protect my daughter from the spotlight. "I want an emergency board meeting convened at six o'clock this morning. No remote dial-ins. Physical presence is mandatory."
"Gregory will try to block it," Marcus warned. "He’s technically the CEO. He sets the agenda."
"Remind him that I hold sixty-two percent of the voting shares, Marcus. I don't need his permission to call a meeting. I am the company. Have security lock down his corporate accounts, freeze his keycards, and pull the preliminary audit files we discussed last month. It’s time."
"Understood. And what about Diane?"
A cold smile touched my lips. "Let her sleep. I want her to wake up to a completely different world."
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By 5:30 AM, the glass-walled boardroom on the fiftieth floor of the Monroe-Vance building was humming with nervous energy. The board members, pulled from their beds and rushed into the city, were huddled in small groups, whispering furiously. I sat quietly at the far end of the long mahogany table, nursing a cup of black coffee. I wore a tailored charcoal suit—no jewelry, hair pulled back. Exactly what Diane had found so offensive, only now, it was the armor of an executioner.
At exactly 5:58 AM, the boardroom doors flew open. Gregory Ashworth burst in, his tuxedo traded for a hastily wrinkled suit, his tie askew. His eyes were bloodshot, panic radiating from him like heat from an engine. The room fell dead silent as he locked eyes with me.
