StoriesBlog “She is Sarah Vanderquilt,” William corrected, his voice dropping an octave. “She used her mother’s maiden name, Jones, because she wanted a simple life. She wanted to find a man who loved her, not her inheritance.”
William took a step toward Alexander. The bodyguards tensed, ready to intercept, but William just leaned on his cane.
“She thought she found that man in you,” William continued. “We gave her ten years, Mr. Hawthorne. Ten years to play house. We stayed away, as she asked.”
“We let her live in your modest apartments. We let her drive your pedestrian cars. But then you decided to hurt her.”
Victoria, Sarah’s sister, slammed her briefcase onto the defense table. The sound echoed like a gunshot.
“You didn’t just file for divorce, Alexander,” Victoria said, opening the case. “You tried to humiliate her. You fabricated evidence. You tried to leave a Vanderquilt penniless.”
She pulled out a document and held it up. “This is a motion to dismiss your fraudulent claims,” Victoria announced. “And this,” she pulled out a second, thicker document, “is a countersuit.”
“Countersuit?” Pendergast managed to squeak. “On what grounds?”
“Fraud,” Victoria listed, ticking off her fingers. “Embezzlement, corporate espionage, adultery, and, oh yes, conspiracy to defraud a federal judge.”
Alexander felt the room spinning. “You’re bluffing. Sarah is a nobody. She cooked my dinner. She did my laundry.”
“So? She did your laundry,” William said, his voice dripping with disgust. “Because she loved you, not because she had to. You treated a queen like a servant, and you were too stupid to notice the difference.”
Judge Bentley, realizing the gravity of the situation, cleared his throat. “Mr. Vanderquilt, while I respect your… entrance, you cannot simply take over proceedings. Ms. Vanderquilt Sterling, you must file an appearance.”
“Already filed electronically, Your Honor, three minutes ago,” Victoria said smoothly. “Along with a request to transfer this case to the High Court, due to the complexities of the assets involved.”
“Assets,” Alexander scoffed, trying to regain his composure. “I’m the one with the assets. She has nothing.”
Sarah spoke then. Her voice was calm, but it carried to every corner of the room. “Alexander,” she said, “who do you think funded your seed round for Hawthorne Tech?”
Alexander blinked. “Angel Investors. A consortium called V Group Holdings.”
“V Group,” Sarah repeated. “V, as in Vanderquilt.”
Alexander froze.
“My trust fund,” Sarah said simply. “I authorized the investment ten years ago. I own 49% of your company through shell corporations. My family owns another 2%.”
She smiled a cold, sharp smile that matched her father’s. “That means we own 51%. I’m not just your wife, Alexander. I’m your boss.”
The color drained from Alexander’s face so completely he looked like a wax figure. Pendergast looked like he was having a heart attack.
“We are freezing all assets of Hawthorne Tech effective immediately,” Victoria announced, handing a paper to the bailiff. “We are also serving you with an eviction notice for the penthouse. The building is owned by Vanderquilt Real Estate. You have 24 hours to vacate.”
“You can’t do this!” Alexander screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Sarah. “I’m the CEO. I built that company with my money!”
“Sarah’s money,” Sarah said. “And my patience, both of which have run out.”
William Vanderquilt tapped his cane on the floor. “Your Honor, I suggest a recess. My son-in-law looks like he needs to call his mistress and tell her he can’t pay for the hotel room anymore.”
The courtroom erupted into chaos. Reporters were frantically typing on their phones. Timothy O’Malley was staring at Sarah with his mouth hanging open.
Judge Bentley banged his gavel. “Order! Order! We will take a one-hour recess.”
As the judge exited, Alexander slumped into his chair. He looked up at Sarah, searching for the woman who used to make him coffee and rub his back. She was gone. In her place was a stranger backed by an army.
Sarah leaned across the aisle. “You wanted a war, Alexander,” she whispered. “The Vanderquilts don’t lose wars. We end them.”
She turned and walked out, flanked by her father, her sister, and the wall of bodyguards. Alexander was left alone in the noise, the smell of his expensive cologne now sour with the scent of fear.
The hour-long recess was barely ten minutes old, and Alexander Hawthorne was already breaking the speed limit in his Porsche 911, weaving through Manhattan traffic with the desperation of a cornered animal. His hands shook on the steering wheel.
“It’s a bluff,” he told himself over and over. “It has to be a bluff. Nobody hides being a billionaire for ten years. Nobody.”
He fumbled for his phone, dialing Leonard Banks. He had to be careful with names. His mind was scrambling. Leonard Banks was his Chief Financial Officer, the man who knew where all the bodies were buried.
“Leonard!” Alexander screamed the moment the line connected. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the office, Alex.” Leonard’s voice sounded strange, thin, strained.
“Listen, you shouldn’t come here…”
“I’m the CEO, I go where I please! Listen to me, I need you to transfer the offshore accounts, the Caymans, the Zurich hold. Move it all to the crypto wallets we discussed. Now!”
There was a long silence on the other end.
“Leonard, did you hear me?”
“I can’t do that, Alex.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Because,” Leonard whispered, “they are already here.” The line went dead.
Alexander slammed the phone onto the passenger seat. He floored the accelerator, running a red light. He needed to get to the server room.
If he could just delete the files, the evidence of the embezzlement he’d been committing for three years to fund his lavish lifestyle and Jessica’s expensive tastes, he might survive this. He could claim the Vanderquilts were staging a hostile takeover based on lies.
He screeched into the underground parking garage of Hawthorne Tech. He leaped out of the car, sprinting toward the private elevator that led directly to the 40th floor. He jammed his thumb against the biometric scanner.
Beep, beep, beep. Access denied.
Alexander stared at the small red light. He wiped his thumb on his jacket and tried again. Access denied. “User ID Invalid,” the screen read.
“Damn it!” He kicked the steel doors.
“Mr. Hawthorne.”
Alexander spun around. Two security guards—men he had hired, men whose paychecks he signed—were standing there. But they weren’t smiling. They were standing with their arms crossed, looking at him with a mix of pity and professional detachment.
“Open this elevator,” Alexander barked. “The system is glitching.”
“It’s not a glitch, sir,” the taller guard said. “We’ve been ordered to escort you to the boardroom. Visitor pass only.”
“Visitor?” Alexander’s veins bulged in his neck. “I own this building!”
“This way, sir.”
They flanked him effectively, marching him to the service elevator. The humiliation burned hotter than fire. Alexander Hawthorne, dragged through the back entrance of his own empire.
When the elevator doors opened on the 40th floor, the office was deathly quiet. Usually, it was buzzing with analysts and developers. Now everyone was at their desks, heads down, pretending to work.
But Alexander could feel their eyes on him. They knew. The gossip mill moved faster than light.
The double glass doors of the boardroom were frosted, but he could see shadows moving inside. He pushed past the guards and threw the doors open. The scene before him stopped him cold.
The long mahogany table was full. The entire board of directors was present. They were men and women Alexander had bullied, charmed, and manipulated for years. Usually, they looked at him with deference. Today, they wouldn’t meet his eyes.
At the head of the table, in his seat, sat Sarah.
She wasn’t wearing the grey dress from the courtroom anymore. In the hour since they had left, she had changed. She wore a tailored navy blazer, sharp and authoritative, her hair loose and cascading over her shoulders.
She looked comfortable in the leather chair. She looked like she belonged there.
To her right sat William Vanderquilt, looking bored as he reviewed a stack of spreadsheets. To her left was Victoria, tapping away on a tablet. Standing in the corner, looking pale and sweaty, was Leonard Banks, the CFO.
“You’re in my chair,” Alexander snarled, striding forward.
“I’m in the Chairman’s chair,” Sarah corrected calmly. She didn’t stand up. She didn’t flinch. “And since I represent the majority shareholder interest as of 45 minutes ago, this is my seat.”
“You can’t just take over!” Alexander slammed his hands on the table. “I have a contract. I have executive protection.”
“Article 15, Section C of your employment agreement,” Victoria spoke up without looking up from her tablet. “The CEO may be removed immediately and without severance in the event of gross misconduct or criminal negligence.”
“I haven’t done anything criminal,” Alexander lied, his eyes darting to Leonard.
Sarah picked up a file from the table and slid it across the mahogany surface. It stopped perfectly at the edge, right in front of Alexander.
“Leonard told us everything, Alex,” Sarah said softly. “The renovation costs for the penthouse that were billed as server upgrades, the company jet trips to Mykonos listed as client development, the jewelry receipts for Jessica labeled as office supplies.”
Alexander looked at Leonard. “You traitor.”
“I have a family, Alex,” Leonard stammered, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Mr. Vanderquilt… his auditors found the discrepancies in 10 minutes. They offered me immunity if I cooperated. I’m sorry.”
Alexander felt the floor tilting. “So what? You fire me. I still have my shares. I have 30% of this company.”
William Vanderquilt finally looked up. He took off his reading glasses and folded them slowly.
“Actually, you don’t,” William said. His voice was gravel and thunder. “You took out a loan against your equity three years ago to pay off your gambling debts in Vegas. Remember that? You used your shares as collateral.”
Alexander froze. He had hoped that was buried.
“The loan was held by a private equity firm called Centurion Capital,” William continued.
“Guess who owns Centurion?”
Alexander didn’t answer. He couldn’t breathe.
“I do,” William smiled. “And since you missed your last two margin calls, I foreclosed on the collateral this morning. Your shares are mine.”
Alexander stumbled back, gripping the back of a chair for support. “This… This is a setup. You planned this. You trapped me.”
“I didn’t trap you, Alexander,” Sarah said, standing up. She walked around the table until she was standing inches from him. Her eyes were clear, devoid of the fear he used to see in them.
“I gave you a safety net. I covered for you. I used my dividends to plug the holes you dug in the company finances because I wanted you to succeed. I wanted to believe you were just stressed, not corrupt.”
She leaned in close. “But then you looked at me across the breakfast table last week and told me I was dead weight. You told me I was holding you back.”