Chapter 5 - THE DESPERATE REVENUE
The signed surrender documents sat on the heavy oak desk in the library, the black ink still wet in the dim light of Blackwood Manor.
Andrew dropped the pen. It rolled off the desk and fell onto the rug with a soft, final thud.
"It's done," Andrew whispered, his voice cracking, broken and stripped of every ounce of Wall Street arrogance. "You took everything. My company, my reputation... my child."
Emma picked up the paper, carefully checking the signature before handing it to Marcus, who slipped it into a fireproof leather portfolio.
"I didn't take your life, Andrew," Emma said, turning her back on him to walk toward the large bay windows overlooking the gardens. "You traded it away for a crimson dress and a few seconds of applause from people who never respected you in the first place."
"Emma, please..." Andrew took a step toward her, his eyes wild with a toxic mix of panic, grief, and bitter anger. "We can fix this. You don't have to stay here with this old man! He's manipulating you! He's using you to get revenge on my sector!"
Arthur Vance didn't raise his voice. He simply struck the tip of his silver cane against the hardwood floor once.
The library doors flew open. Two massive, silent security guards stepped into the room, their dark coats slightly parted to reveal tactical holsters.
"Show Mr. Weston to his car," Arthur ordered, not even looking at Andrew. "If he steps foot on any property owned by the Vance family anywhere in the world, have him arrested for criminal trespass immediately."
"You'll regret this, Emma!" Andrew screamed as the guards grabbed him by the arms, dragging him backward out of the library. His formal shoes dragged against the antique rug. "You hear me?! You can't survive without me! You're nothing without my name!"
His screams faded down the grand corridor until the heavy front doors slammed shut, plunging the manor back into majestic, peaceful silence.
Emma stood by the window, her hand coming up to rest on her stomach. Her baby kicked—a strong, distinct flutter against her palm.
"Are you alright, my child?" Arthur asked gently, walking over to stand beside her.
Emma let out a long, slow breath. The knot of fear that had been tied in her chest for two years was finally unraveling. "I'm better than alright, Arthur. For the first time in my life, I can breathe."
"Good," Arthur said, a rare, warm smile appearing on his face. "Because the work is just beginning. Andrew Weston was merely a symptom of a larger disease. Now, we rebuild."
While Andrew was being escorted off the Blackwood estate, news of the hostiles takeover of Weston Capital erupted across global financial markets like a megaton bomb.
By 2:00 PM Eastern Standard Time, Bloomberg broke the news:
BREAKING: WESTON CAPITAL OUSTS FOUNDER AND CEO ANDREW WESTON FOLLOWING DEBT RESTRUCTURING BY VANCE GLOBAL HOLDINGS. NEW BOARD APPOINTS INTERIM LEADERSHIP.
In Manhattan, Lila Summers sat in her luxury high-rise apartment, surrounded by bags from Fifth Avenue boutiques, watching the television screen in horror. Her phone was ringing non-stop. Her credit cards had been declined an hour ago at Saks Fifth Avenue.
Suddenly, her door burst open.
Andrew stumbled into the apartment. His tie was gone, his shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild. He carried a half-empty bottle of scotch in his left hand.
"Andrew!" Lila cried out, running toward him. "What is happening on the news?! They're saying you lost the fund! My father said his stock options are worth zero! Is this true?!"
Andrew looked at her. He looked at her red hair, her bright makeup, and the cheap, self-serving fear in her eyes. This was the woman he had kissed under the chandeliers while his pregnant wife watched. This was the distraction he had traded his empire for.
"Get out," Andrew growled, his voice dangerously low.
"What?!" Lila gasped, stepping back.
"GET OUT OF MY APARTMENT!" Andrew roared, hurling the scotch bottle against the wall right above her head. Glass and amber liquid exploded across the expensive wallpaper. "Get your trash, get your clothes, and get the hell out of my life!"
"You lunatic!" Lila screamed, tears of rage smearing her mascara. "You think I give a damn about you?! You're broke! You're a ruined, washed-up cheat! Emma was smart to leave you!"
She grabbed her designer handbag and ran out the door, slamming it violently behind her.
Andrew stood alone in the ruined apartment. The silence was deafening. He walked over to the floor-to-ceiling glass, looking out over the rain-slicked towers of Manhattan.
His phone rang on the glass coffee table. It was a call from his bank.
He didn't answer. He knew what they were going to say. His personal assets were locked pending the divorce settlement. His reputation was ashes.
A dark, dangerous thought began to poison Andrew’s mind.
He didn't care about the money anymore. He didn't care about the hedge fund. He wanted Emma back—or he wanted to destroy the man who had stolen her from him.
May you like
He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a burner phone. He dialed a contact he had vowed never to use again—a shady covert intelligence operative named Miller who specialized in non-sanctioned corporate sabotage.
"Miller," Andrew said into the receiver, his voice trembling with unhinged malice. "I need a team in London. Right now."
