Chapter 3 - The Council of Wolves
The sun rose over the city, casting long, sharp shadows across the glass canyons of downtown. Word travels fast in elite circles, and by noon, the digital media world was in absolute, deafening uproar.
BREAKING NEWS: VANCE MEDIA CEO JULIAN VANCE DETAINED FOR QUESTIONING FOLLOWING ALLEGED ATTEMPTED MURDER AND FINANCIAL FRAUD.
The headlines flashed across every major news portal, accompanied by leaked screenshots of the corporate audit trail I had meticulously compiled over the last three months. Shares of Vance Media Group plummeted by forty-two percent within the first ten minutes of trading.
Inside the glass-walled boardroom of the corporate headquarters, the board of directors sat in stunned, suffocating silence.
The emergency shareholder meeting had been called by me—not Julian, not Victoria, but Elena Vance, majority shareholder and rightful chairwoman of the board.
The heavy oak doors swung open. I walked in wearing a tailored charcoal pantsuit, my hair pulled back into a sharp, flawless chignon. A faint bruise on my forehead was expertly covered by makeup, but my posture was absolute steel. Behind me walked two federal marshals, carrying boxes of subpoenaed documents.
Several board members—old men who had nodded along to Julian’s misogynistic dismissal of my creative vision for years—couldn't even meet my eyes.
"Elena," stammered Mr. Henderson, the senior board advisor, adjusting his tie with trembling fingers. "This... this is unprecedented. Julian is—"
"Julian is currently sitting in a holding cell at the federal penitentiary awaiting a formal arraignment for attempted murder, wire fraud, and grand larceny," I said, my voice echoing coldly against the glass walls. I pulled out my chair at the head of the table and sat down, lacing my fingers together. "If any one of you received funds from his illicit asset-stripping operation, I suggest you raise your hands now. The Department of Justice is offering plea deals until five o'clock today."
The silence in the room was absolute. You could hear the hum of the air conditioning unit echoing in the vast space.
"Where is Victoria?" asked Sarah, our lead creative director, her voice laced with quiet triumph. Victoria had spent months trying to oust Sarah and replace her with a loyalist puppet.
"Victoria is currently trying to liquidate her personal jewelry collection to pay for high-priced defense attorneys who have already realized her case is indefensible," I replied smoothly, opening my tablet. "Now, let’s get down to business. We have a multi-media empire to rescue, a brand to rehabilitate, and a public narrative to rewrite."
That evening, I returned to the penthouse.
The police tape across the balcony doors had been removed, but the apartment felt vast, cold, and hollow. I walked out onto the twelfth-floor balcony, stepping carefully past the exact spot where Julian’s hands had pushed against my shoulders.
The wind whipped my hair across my face. Down below, the city lights twinkled like a million indifferent stars.
My phone buzzed on the glass patio table.
It was an unknown number, routed through the prison system's recorded call line. I pressed accept.
"Elena?" Julian’s voice cracked, sounding small, broken, and utterly pathetic. There was no arrogance left, no aristocratic superiority—just a desperate, trapped animal begging for a way out. "Elena, please... please listen to me. Mom made me do it. She told me you were trying to cut us off, she said—"
"Julian," I interrupted, my voice as calm and sharp as a surgeon's scalpel.
"Please, drop the charges," he sobbed, the sound of a grown man weeping echoing miserably over the speaker. "We were married for five years! We loved each other! Think of the baby—"
"The baby," I whispered, resting a hand gently against my stomach, feeling a faint, reassuring flutter of life within. "The baby and I are doing wonderfully, Julian. Thank you for asking."
"Let's make a deal," he pleaded frantically. "I'll sign over all my shares, I'll walk away with nothing! Just don't let them put me away for twenty years!"
I smiled into the empty night air.
"Julian, do you remember what you said right before you pried my fingers off this railing?"
Silence stretched over the line, heavy and suffocating.
May you like
"You said... once I'm dead, everything belongs to your son," I continued softly. "Well, you were right about one thing. Everything does belong to my child. And absolutely nothing belongs to you."
I tapped the screen, ending the call, and blocked the number forever.
