Chapter 8 - The Ghost of a Boy
The trap was set, but I needed to ensure the net closed completely around both of them.
The afternoon of the gala, I received a text message from an unknown number.
I told you that you were nothing without me. See you tonight. — Ethan.
I stared at the screen, a chilling laugh escaping my lips. The absolute, blinding arrogance of a mediocre man. Ethan truly believed he was the architect of my destruction. He thought that by standing behind a ruthless New York billionaire, he had finally regained his power.
I didn't reply. Silence is the most terrifying sound to a narcissist.
Instead, I met with an off-the-books digital forensics expert. We didn't just have the proof that the ledgers Sterling possessed were fake; we had the digital fingerprints proving Ethan had illegally hacked into our subsidiary servers to steal them, and that Sterling had paid him a quarter of a million dollars in untraceable offshore funds to do it. It was undeniable, textbook corporate espionage and wire fraud.
"Are you ready for this?" David asked as I stepped out of the bedroom.
I was wearing a sleek, backless crimson gown that moved like liquid fire. It wasn't the ivory armor I wore a year ago; it was the dress of an executioner. My grandmother’s diamond glittered on my hand, a reminder of the generations of strong women who had survived long before I took the board.
May you like
"I've been ready since the day I walked out of that wedding venue," I whispered, kissing him softly.
We took the private elevator down to the waiting town car. The Boston skyline glittered against the dark harbor, completely oblivious to the absolute massacre that was about to unfold.
