Chapter 3 - The Sanctuary of The PlazaWhile chaos consumed the forty-second floor of Carter Global, I sat in the sunlit dining room of The Plaza Hotel, enjoying a quiet, leisurely breakfast of fresh berries, artisanal pastries, and Earl Grey tea.
My phone remained on the table, buzzing intermittently with frantic, blocked-number calls from Michael and panicked, tearful text messages from Brittany. I ignored every single one of them. You don't negotiate with arsonists; you let them burn in the fire they set.
At 11:30 AM, the maître d’ approached my table with a polite bow.
"Pardon me, Mrs. Carter. You have a visitor in the lobby lounge. A Mr. Ryan Sterling."
I smiled, dabbing my lips with a linen napkin. "Send him right up, please."
Ryan—my trusted private investigator and childhood friend—arrived a few minutes later, looking impeccably sharp in a navy bespoke suit. He carried a sleek leather briefcase, his expression a mix of professional satisfaction and suppressed amusement.
"Good morning, Claire," Ryan greeted, pulling out the chair opposite me and sitting down. "Word travels fast in Manhattan. By ten o'clock, Wall Street was buzzing about the sudden suspension of Carter Global’s golden-boy CEO. Stocks dipped two point four percent within twenty minutes of the news breaking."
"Only two point four percent?" I mused, pouring him a cup of tea. "Arthur Vance must be working overtime to reassure investors."
"Oh, Arthur is having the time of his life," Ryan chuckled, unzipping his briefcase and pulling out a thick manila folder. "He loves a good corporate cleansing. But that’s not all. I dug a little deeper into Miss Brittany Adams's background, just in case Michael tries to claim she acted alone."
He slid the folder across the table. I opened it, scanning the neatly printed documents.
"Interesting," I murmured.
"Very interesting," Ryan agreed. "Turns out, Brittany has a history of targeting married executives at previous firms. She was quietly let go from her last PR agency in Chicago under remarkably similar circumstances—embezzlement of promotional funds and targeted harassment of an executive's spouse."
"And Michael thought she was his great soulmate," I scoffed softly, shaking my head. "He really is breathtakingly stupid when his ego is stroked."
"What’s your next move?" Ryan asked, leaning forward. "Michael’s legal team is scrambling to find you. They’ve tried contacting your personal accounts, your family, even your old college roommates. They realize that as the primary shareholder of your personal trust—which holds twelve percent of Carter Global stock—you hold the swing vote on whether the board ousts him permanently or hands him over to federal prosecutors."
I closed the folder, resting my hand calmly on top of it.
"I’m not hiding from them, Ryan. I’m just letting them marinate in their panic until my divorce attorney files the formal petition this afternoon."
"And the settlement terms?"
"I want everything," I stated quietly, my voice devoid of emotion. "The penthouse, the investment portfolios, his shares in Carter Global transferred directly into my name, and a public statement acknowledging that his termination was a result of gross fiduciary malfeasance and moral turpitude. If he fights me on a single clause, I let Arthur Vance hand the embezzlement files directly to the FBI."
Ryan grinned broadly. "Remind me never to get on your bad side, Claire."
"You're on my payroll, Ryan. As long as the checks clear, you're safe."
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"Speaking of checks," Ryan said, checking his watch, "your divorce attorney, Marcus Vance—no relation to Arthur, thankfully—is waiting for you in your suite downstairs. He’s got the preliminary asset freeze orders ready for your signature."
I stood up, smoothing down my tailored ivory skirt. "Let’s go finalize the execution."
