Chapter 13 - The Lobby Confrontation
The lobby of Vance-Sterling Global was a cathedral of modern architecture—polished black granite floors, soaring ceilings, and a massive living wall of tropical ferns that smelled faintly of fresh rain. But today, that serene atmosphere was shattered.
As the private elevator doors slid open, the sound hit us first: a shrill, manic shouting match echoing off the stone walls.
"Let me through! You corporate thieves! You stole everything! Victoria! I know you're up there hiding behind your billionaire toys!"
A small cluster of onlookers, office workers, and two freelance camera operators from local news outlets were huddled near the security gates. In the center of the chaos stood Arthur Sterling Jr.
He was unrecognizable. The polished, arrogant golden boy of New York high society was completely gone. In his place stood a desperate, unhinged man. His expensive Italian wool suit was rumpled, stained at the cuffs with what looked like grease, and his hair was wild and unwashed. In his trembling hands, he clutched a thick, bulging manila folder marked with handwritten, chaotic annotations in red ink.
Two massive security guards had him pinned by the arms, trying to guide him toward the exit, but he was thrashing like a cornered animal.
"Stop!" I commanded.
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried the absolute, razor-sharp authority of someone who owned the building, the land it sat on, and the air everyone in it was breathing. The lobby instantly went dead silent. The security guards paused, looking back at me for confirmation.
Arthur Jr. jerked his head around. When his bloodshot eyes locked onto me, standing tall in my bespoke navy blazer with Julian and Arthur standing firmly behind me, his face twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated venom.
"Victoria!" he shrieked, breaking free from one guard’s grip before stumbling forward a few steps. "You think you've won, don't you? You think you can destroy my family, strip our name, and walk away like a queen? Look at this!" He shoved the manila folder toward me, waving it frantically in the air. "This is proof! Fraudulent takeover! Collusion! Your precious green-tech patent—it was built on stolen research from the Sterling trust! I have the internal audit reports! I’m going to sue you into the Stone Age!"
The two freelance camera operators immediately rushed forward, their lenses flashing blindingly in my face as the red recording lights blinked to life.
I didn't flinch. I didn't step back. Instead, I slowly walked down the polished granite steps of the elevator foyer, each click of my heels sounding like a hammer blow against the silence of the lobby. Julian walked right beside me, his presence a solid, unshakeable wall of support, while older Arthur lingered a few steps behind, watching his pathetic son with a gaze colder than deep space.
I stopped two feet away from Arthur Jr. The smell of stale sweat and cheap whiskey rolled off him in waves.
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"Arthur," I said softly, my voice carrying clearly into the open microphones of the press. "Let's look at your 'proof'."
***
