Chapter 7 - The Final Severance
The sound that came out of Henry’s throat wasn't a roar; it was a pathetic, strangled wheeze.
He stood up so fast his heavy leather executive chair rolled back and crashed against the floor-to-ceiling glass window behind him. "You can't do this! I am the managing partner! My name is on the building!"
"Not by five o'clock today, it won't be," Arthur Vance said, his voice devoid of pity. The old man looked down at the documents Daniel had provided, then looked up at Henry with utter disgust. "The board has already voted, Henry. Seven to zero. We're offering you a choice. You resign quietly, surrender your executive shares to cover the restitution fund for the clients, and retire to your home upstate. Or Arthur Vance calls the federal prosecutor's office, and you can explain your Delaware shell companies to a grand jury."
Henry swayed on his feet. For a terrifying second, I thought the man was going to have a massive coronary right there on the forty-second floor. His skin had turned a sickening shade of grey, his chest heaving under his tailor-made shirt.
"Henry..." Veronica whimpered, reaching out to touch his sleeve. Her aristocratic mask had completely dissolved. She looked terrified, small, and hopelessly pathetic. "Henry, tell them they're wrong. Tell them we have the trust fund."
"There is no trust fund, Veronica!" Henry roared, turning on his wife with a viciousness that made her recoil in terror. "It's gone! It's been gone for three years! The country club membership? The caterers? The jewels you bought for this boy's wedding? All of it on credit! All of it!"
Sophie burst into loud, hysterical sobs, burying her face in her manicured hands. "You lied to us! You told me my boutique was safe!"
"Enough," Daniel's voice cut through the chaos. He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer weight of his authority brought an instant, chilling silence to the room.
He stood up, tall and immaculately composed. He buttoned his suit jacket, not a single trace of anger on his features—only the cold, surgical detachment of a man closing a file he would never open again.
"The board's legal counsel has the resignation papers waiting in the ante-room, Henry," Daniel said. "Sign them, or don't. That's between you, Arthur, and the federal government. My involvement with this firm, and with you, ends right now."
Daniel turned toward me, extending his hand.
I placed my hand in his. His grip was warm, strong, and completely steady.
As we turned to walk toward the boardroom doors, Veronica lunged forward. She grabbed the sleeve of Daniel's jacket, her polished fingernails digging into the fine wool.
"Daniel, wait!" she begged, tears finally cutting dark tracks through her foundation. "You're my son! You can't leave us with nothing! What will people say? The Montgomerys... the foundation board... everyone will know!"
Daniel stopped. He looked down at the hand clutching his sleeve. Slowly, deliberately, he reached down with two fingers, peeled her hand off his jacket, and let it drop.
"Do you remember what you told Ivy at our wedding, Veronica?" Daniel asked softly.
Veronica blinked, confused, her breath catching in her throat.
"You told a six-year-old child she wasn't a daughter," Daniel said, every word hitting her like a physical blow. "You told her she was a regret. Well, Mother... look around this room. Look at your bankrupt husband. Look at the empire you built on lies, greed, and cruelty."
Daniel stepped back, putting his arm around my waist and pulling me close against his side.
"You were right about one thing that night," Daniel whispered. "Somebody in this family is a regret. But it was never Ivy. It was you."
We walked out of the boardroom.
Behind us, Veronica's broken, sobbing cries echoed down the corridor, mingling with the shouting of the board members and the rustle of surrender papers being pushed across a table.
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We didn't look back.
***
