Chapter 4 - The Scramble of the RatsSecurity guards didn't wait for Ethan to reach the stage.
Before he could take a third step down the center aisle, two towering corporate security professionals—men built like brick walls in tailored suits—intercepted him. They grabbed Ethan firmly by both arms, pinning his hands behind his back with practiced, surgical efficiency.
"Get your hands off me! Do you know who I am?!" Ethan shrieked, thrashing wildly like a trapped animal, spitting foam as his carefully styled hair fell into his sweaty eyes. "I’m a senior director! I’m part of the executive inner circle! Ava, tell them to let me go! We’re husband and wife! We have a home together!"
"You had a home, Ethan," I corrected, my voice cold and steady from the podium. "Now you have a mountain of debt, a terminated contract, and a criminal investigation waiting for you in the morning."
Madeline, realizing in a single microsecond that her golden ticket had just turned into a one-way ticket to ruin, dropped her designer handbag on the floor, turned on her stiletto heels, and bolted toward the exit doors as fast as her legs could carry her. She didn't look back once, abandoning her precious boyfriend the moment his name was scrubbed from the corporate ledger.
Ethan watched her flee, his face contorting into a mask of pure betrayal before his eyes snapped back to me.
"You're a monster," Ethan sobbed, his voice cracking into a pathetic, high-pitched whine as the security guards dragged him backward toward the grand exit. "You set me up! You trapped me!"
"No, Ethan," I said softly, stepping away from the podium and walking gracefully down the steps of the stage, the diamonds at my throat catching the light like frozen lightning. "I didn't trap you. I simply gave you enough rope, and you tied the knot all by yourself."
The heavy mahogany doors swung open, and Ethan Hollis was dumped unceremoniously onto the cold concrete sidewalk outside the Grand Sterling Hotel, his Brioni tuxedo ripped at the shoulder, his dignity completely eradicated.
The double doors slammed shut behind him.
Inside the grand ballroom, the silence was broken only by the faint, nervous rustling of silk as hundreds of guests turned their eyes back toward me, holding their breath, waiting to see what the true master of the house would do next.
I stopped midway down the aisle, turning my gaze slowly across the room. Every single person—from regional VPs to senior partners—instantly averted their eyes, bowing their heads in terrified deference. They knew. They all knew that a single word from me could strip them of their titles, their corner offices, and their multi-million-dollar bonuses just as easily as it had happened to Ethan.
"Ladies and gentlemen," I said, my voice carrying a warm, polished veneer of hospitality that contrasted sharply with the chilling display of power we had just witnessed. "Please. Enjoy your evening. The banquet continues."
Instantly, as if an invisible conductor had tapped a baton, the chamber orchestra struck up a lively waltz. Conversations resumed in hushed, nervous whispers, and waiters frantically rushed to clear away the shattered glass of champagne from the floor.
Marcus Vance appeared at my elbow, holding a silver tablet.
"Brilliant execution, Madam President," Marcus murmured respectfully. "The legal team has already initiated asset seizure protocols for the Hollis household. By midnight, the mortgage, the car, and his personal bank accounts will be frozen under federal fraud provisions."
"Good," I replied quietly, taking a flute of sparkling water from a passing tray. "And what about his mother? Constance?"
Marcus raised an eyebrow. "She called his office ten minutes ago screaming about her quarterly allowance check. I informed her that the Sterling Foundation subsidy had been permanently revoked."
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I took a slow sip of water, feeling the cool liquid soothe my throat. Constance Hollis had spent seven years treating me like an unpaid maid, whispering poison in Ethan's ear, and telling him he could do 'so much better than a quiet nobody.' She was about to discover what life looked like when the faucet was turned off permanently.
"Let's move to the executive suite, Marcus," I said, turning toward the private elevators. "It's time to review the Q3 restructuring plan. I have a company to run."
