Chapter 4 - The Twelve-Year-Old’s Trap
Brett’s face drained of color so fast it looked as if he had been struck. "Micah... give me that."
"No," Micah said firmly.
The boy turned toward Table Three, where Arthur Vance, the lead New York investor, was watching the spectacle with cold, calculating eyes. Micah walked straight past his father, held out his small hand, and placed the black USB drive directly onto Arthur Vance’s bread plate.
"What is this, son?" Arthur asked, his sharp voice cutting through the rising whispers of the crowd.
"That's the second set of books," Micah said clearly. "The ones for the shell company my dad opened under Sierra’s maiden name. The ones that show where three hundred thousand dollars of the expansion fund went last quarter."
"Micah!" Brett yelled, lunging forward to grab the drive, but two large men—head chefs from the Holloway flagship kitchen who had stepped out of the back—instantly stepped onto the floor, blocking Brett’s path.
"Let the kid speak, Brett," Marco, the executive chef who had worked alongside Audrey for eight years, said in a deep, gravelly tone. Marco didn't move an inch. He stood like a brick wall between Brett and the investor’s table.
"This is insane!" Sierra panicked, her voice rising into a high-pitched shriek. She grabbed Brett’s arm, her perfectly polished nails digging into his sleeve. "Brett, do something! They’re lying! He’s just a child!"
"A child who spends every afternoon in the back office doing his homework while you two thought I was listening to music on my headphones," Micah said coldly, looking over his shoulder at her. "I hear everything. And I save everything."
Arthur Vance picked up the black USB drive off his bread plate. He looked at Brett, then at Sierra, and finally at Audrey.
"Arthur, please," Brett pleaded, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to clean up the catastrophic mess unfolding around him. "This is a bitter, calculated ambush by a wife who can't accept that the business has outgrown her. The kid is being manipulated. I can explain every transaction—"
"You can explain it to my legal team on Monday morning, Brett," Arthur Vance said calmly. He picked up his napkin, wiped his hands, and stood up from the table. "In fact, don't bother coming to New York. The deal is off."
Arthur turned to Audrey, giving her a sharp, respectful nod. "Mrs. Holloway... or should I say, Mrs. Finch. My team will be in touch with your lawyer tomorrow. I think you're going to need a very good accountant."
Arthur walked out of the ballroom, leaving a crater of stunned silence behind him. Within seconds, two other investment partners at Table Three stood up, adjusted their jackets, and followed Arthur toward the exit without saying a single word to Brett.
Brett stood paralyzed in the center of the room. The empire he had built on charm, stolen recipes, and sleek branding was crumbling before his eyes, brick by brick, in front of the most influential people in Chicago.
Sierra was breathing fast, her eyes darting around as she realized that every phone in the room was recording her. "Brett... we have to leave. Now. People are taking videos!"
"Take off the pin, Sierra," Audrey said. Her voice wasn't raised. It was dead calm.
May you like
Sierra froze. "What?"
"Take off my grandmother’s pin," Audrey repeated, taking one slow step toward her. "Or I will have the security guards at the door hold you for grand larceny before you reach the valet."
