One ear was bigger than the other, one paw looked suspiciously like a potato, and the tiny wooden tie she had glued under its chin leaned sideways.

By 11:30 AM, the atmosphere on the executive floor of Whitmore Aeronautics was stifling.

Vanessa Price strutted through the glass corridors with her chin held high, holding an Hermès Birkin bag that Grant had purchased using corporate contingency funds. She smiled smugly at the secretaries. She was twenty-seven, ambitious, and utterly convinced she had won. Eleanor Whitmore was an aging relic of a fading dynasty; Vanessa was the future.

She walked straight into Grant’s office without knocking.

Grant was pacing behind his desk, sweat glistening on his forehead. His tie was loosened, his hair uncharacteristically disheveled.

“Grant, darling,” Vanessa purred, closing the door behind her. “Did you review the revised travel itinerary for Zurich? I booked us the penthouse suite at—”

“Shut the door and shut your mouth,” Grant snapped viciously.

Vanessa recoiled, blinking in shock. “Excuse me?”

“Eleanor went to the police.”

Vanessa let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. “The police? For a disciplinary slap? Grant, you’re the CEO. Just call the district attorney. You play golf with him every Saturday!”

“She’s bringing Raymond Vance with her, Vanessa! The Vance family practically owns the municipal judiciary in this state. If Vance gets involved, they won’t just treat it as a misdemeanor—they will charge you with felony child abuse!”

Vanessa’s face paled, the smug arrogance beginning to crack. “You said she was docile. You told me she was a spineless society wife who would turn a blind eye as long as her credit cards didn't decline!”

“She is!” Grant slammed his fist on the desk. “Or at least, she was until yesterday. That little brat made her snap.”

Before Vanessa could respond, the office door was pushed open with an authoritative click.

Four men in dark suits stepped into the room. At the front was Raymond Vance, looking every bit the ruthless legal titan who had built an undefeated corporate litigation record over four decades. Behind him stood two senior forensic accountants carrying thick leather binders, accompanied by the head of building security, a retired Marine named Marcus.

“What is the meaning of this?” Grant barked, stepping around his desk. “Raymond, you don’t have an appointment. Get out of my office.”

“It’s not your office, Grant,” Raymond Vance said smoothly, placing a crisp white folder on the glass desk.

“Excuse me?”

“Pursuant to the emergency injunction issued by the State Supreme Court ninety minutes ago, your executive powers as Chief Executive Officer and Chairman of the Board of Whitmore Aeronautics have been suspended pending formal review.”

Grant froze. “On what grounds? That’s absurd! The board has to convene for a suspension!”

“The board doesn’t need to convene when the Sterling-Vance Heritage Trust holds a fifty-one percent controlling golden share,” Raymond replied, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “And under Section 14 of your founder-proxy agreement, any moral or criminal liability brought against an heir of the trust triggers immediate executive recusal.”

Vanessa gasped, clutching her Birkin tightly against her ribs. “You can’t do this! This is corporate sabotage!”

Raymond didn’t even look at her. “Marcus, please escort Miss Price to her desk so she may collect her personal belongings. She is permanently barred from the premises.”

“Don’t you touch me!” Vanessa hissed as the security guard stepped forward. “Grant, do something! Tell them!”

Grant reached for the landline on his desk. “I’m calling the board members right now. Julian! Julian Cole will never approve this!”

“Julian Cole already signed the recusal document, Grant,” Raymond said, a slight, predatory smile touching his lips. “Julian didn’t take kindly to learning that you approved a 1.2-million-dollar bonus for Miss Price under the guise of 'technical aerospace logistics,' especially when forensic audits showed the funds were wired straight into an offshore holding company registered in the Cayman Islands under her mother’s maiden name.”

Vanessa went chalk-white. She dropped her Birkin.

“What?” Grant turned to Vanessa, his eyes wide with betrayal. “What is he talking about? You said that shell company was for European supply contracts!”

“Oh, did she?” Raymond chuckled coldly. “It seems Miss Price was playing you just as thoroughly as you were playing your wife, Grant. Security—get her out.”

Marcus firmly took Vanessa by the elbow. Vanessa struggled, her designer heels skidding against the polished marble floor. “Grant! You promised you’d protect me! Grant!”

Her screams echoed down the long glass corridor as she was dragged away, witnessed by dozens of wide-eyed employees and executive vice presidents.

Grant stood frozen behind his desk, trembling. “Raymond… listen to me. We can fix this. Eleanor is angry, but she’s reasonable. Let me talk to her. I’ll apologize to Lucy. I’ll get down on my knees if I have to!”

Raymond looked at Grant with pure disdain.