Chapter 9 - CLEANING HOUSE
Six months later.
The spring sun streamed through the floor-to-ceiling glass windows of the Bellamy Ridge Construction executive boardroom.
I sat at the head of the polished conference table, dressed in a sharp maroon pantsuit. Beside me sat Harlan, looking healthier and more relaxed than he had in years. Around the table were the seven members of the corporate board of directors.
“Item three on the agenda,” Arthur Vance announced, tapping his tablet screen. “Q2 financial audit results. Since the restructuring and the removal of unauthorized executive expense accounts, operating overhead is down twenty-four percent. Net profitability for the quarter is up thirty-one percent.”
The board members clapped warmly.
“Excellent work, Elena,” one of the senior directors said, nodding toward me. “The new internal compliance protocols you instituted have completely restored investor confidence.”
“Thank you, Frank,” I smiled. “Bellamy Ridge is strong because the people working on the ground are honest. We’re keeping it that way.”
After the board meeting adjourned, Harlan stayed behind, sipping his black coffee.
“You’re a natural at this, Elena,” the old man said softly, looking at me with immense pride. “I should have put you in charge of operations ten years ago.”
“I learned from the best,” I replied, giving his hand a squeeze.
“Have you heard from Elise today?” Harlan asked gently.
I nodded. “The plea deal was finalized this morning.”
Warren had spent the last six months in county jail, unable to make the $500,000 bail after all his assets were frozen. Facing overwhelmed evidence of corporate embezzlement and bank fraud, his criminal defense team had surrendered.
Warren pled guilty to two counts of federal wire fraud and grand larceny. He was sentenced to four years at a federal correctional facility in Texarkana, followed by three years of supervised release and a mandatory restitution order of $680,000 to Bellamy Ridge Construction.
The divorce was finalized two weeks ago.
I received the house, thirty percent of the company equity, and full ownership of our liquid investment accounts. Warren left the marriage with nothing but a gray prison jumpsuit and a heavy debt to the state.
As for Paige Dalton, the fallout had been equally swift.
Once Warren’s funds dried up, she was forced to sell her luxury designer collection to pay off her credit card debts. When the story of Warren’s arrest hit the Dallas business journals, her name was linked directly to the scandal, leading to her termination from her marketing firm. Last I heard, she had moved back to her hometown in Oklahoma, working at a car dealership.
I walked out of the corporate office and drove my new car—a sleek silver hybrid—toward Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport.
I hadn't quit my job as a flight attendant.
I didn't need the money anymore. But I loved the work. I loved the sky, I loved the feeling of lifting off the ground, and I loved the bond I shared with my crew.
I walked into the flight attendant lounge at Terminal D, rolling my overnight bag behind me.
Nadine Foster was sitting at the break table, reading a magazine. When she saw me, her face lit up with a huge smile.
“Look who it is!” Nadine cheered, standing up to give me a hug. “The Vice President of the world! What are you doing here, Elena? Shouldn't you be sitting in a corner office counting your money?”
“And miss our flight to Honolulu?” I laughed, handing her a fresh hot latte I had picked up downstairs. “Not a chance.”
“How are you feeling, real talk?” Nadine asked, looking into my eyes with genuine affection.
May you like
I looked out the panoramic glass window of the lounge. Outside, a massive Boeing 777 was roaring down the runway, its nose pointing upward into the bright blue, endless Texas sky.
“I feel like I’m finally living my own life, Nadine,” I said.
