Chapter 19 - The Bastard's Illusions Shattered
At exactly two o'clock in the afternoon,
the heavy,
polished oak doors of my executive office swung open,
and Lucas Sterling marched into the room with the aggressive,
exaggerated swagger of a deeply insecure boy trying desperately to play the role of a dangerous,
conquering king.
He was dressed in a ridiculously expensive,
custom-tailored bespoke suit,
his dark hair slicked back perfectly,
clutching a thick,
leather-bound portfolio of hostile takeover documents in his trembling,
sweaty hands.
He stopped in the center of the massive,
luxurious room,
his eyes darting around,
taking in the priceless,
original oil paintings,
the imported,
hand-woven Persian rugs,
and the breathtaking,
panoramic view of the sprawling city below.
Ethan stood silently in the corner of the room,
leaning casually against the dark,
mahogany bookshelves,
his arms crossed over his broad chest,
staring at Lucas with the absolute,
unblinking intensity of a apex predator watching a wounded,
limping gazelle.
I remained seated behind my massive desk,
my hands folded neatly in my lap,
watching his arrogant,
smug expression falter slightly under the crushing,
oppressive weight of the absolute silence in the room.
"It is over,
Evelyn," Lucas announced loudly,
his voice cracking slightly,
betraying the intense,
overwhelming nervous energy vibrating violently through his young,
inexperienced body.
He marched forward,
slamming the heavy leather portfolio onto my pristine desk,
the sound echoing sharply in the quiet,
cavernous space.
"Sign the transfer documents,
relinquish your controlling shares to my holding company,
and I will graciously,
mercifully allow you to keep that pathetic,
isolated lake house in the mountains before I burn this entire corporate empire to the ground."
I looked down at the documents,
my face completely,
terrifyingly blank,
showing absolutely no emotion,
no fear,
and no submission whatsoever.
I slowly,
deliberately reached out and pushed the leather portfolio off the edge of the desk,
letting it crash heavily onto the floor,
the meticulously prepared,
hostile takeover documents spilling uselessly across the expensive rug.
Lucas gasped,
stepping backward,
his face flushing with a sudden,
confused,
and rapidly escalating anger.
"What the hell are you doing?" he shouted,
pointing a shaking,
accusatory finger at my calm,
unmoving face.
"I own your debt,
I control your supply chain,
you have absolutely no leverage left,
you arrogant,
delusional old woman!"
I sighed,
a soft,
disappointed sound,
shaking my head with the genuine,
pitying sorrow of a teacher dealing with a remarkably slow,
stubborn child.
"You do not own our debt,
Lucas," Ethan spoke up from the corner,
his deep,
booming voice echoing with a terrifying,
absolute authority that made Lucas flinch violently.
"As of nine o'clock this morning,
Vanguard Pinnacle Holdings aggressively,
secretly acquired the international syndicates that you borrowed your funding from,
meaning that your shadow hedge fund now owes over eight hundred million dollars directly,
and exclusively,
to us."
Lucas froze,
the color draining completely,
instantly from his handsome face,
his arrogant,
smug bravado shattering like a piece of cheap,
thin glass hit by a heavy iron hammer.
"That is impossible," Lucas whispered,
his eyes wide with sheer,
unadulterated terror,
stumbling backward until his legs hit the heavy leather sofa.
"I checked the ledgers,
I masked the funding routes,
you couldn't possibly have the liquid capital to buy out a syndicate of that massive size!"
"We faked the weakness,
you pathetic,
predictable amateur," Ethan sneered,
taking a slow,
intimidating step toward the trembling boy.
"We let you think you were winning,
we let you borrow money you could never,
ever repay,
so that we could legally,
permanently strip you of every single asset you possess."
I picked up the thick,
heavy manila envelope from my desk,
breaking the red wax seal with my perfectly manicured thumbnail,
and pulled out a stack of grim,
official state penitentiary documents and medical records.
"But bankrupting you is merely business,
Lucas," I said softly,
my voice dropping to a dangerous,
intimate whisper as I stood up and walked around the desk.
"I invited you here today to completely,
permanently destroy the pathetic,
delusional myth you have built your entire,
miserable life upon."
I tossed the first document onto the coffee table in front of him,
a brutal,
clinical psychiatric evaluation from a state prison hospital.
"Your mother,
Melissa,
did not go to prison as a tragic,
wronged victim of my cruelty," I explained coldly,
watching his eyes desperately scan the harsh,
unforgiving words on the page.
"She went to prison because she was a greedy,
manipulative parasite,
and according to these records,
she spent the last three years of her life in a padded,
solitary cell,
screaming wildly at the walls,
having completely,
irreversibly lost her mind before she died of liver failure six months ago."
Lucas let out a choked,
agonized sob,
collapsing heavily onto the sofa,
clutching his head in his trembling hands as the reality of his mother’s horrific,
pathetic end crashed down upon him.
I tossed the second document down,
a faded,
thirteen-year-old DNA test result,
stapled to a dark,
depressing coroner’s report.
"And your father,
the corrupt,
cowardly Richard Sterling,
did not hang himself in his federal prison cell because I ruined his career," I continued mercilessly,
every word acting as a poisoned,
lethal dagger plunging directly into his fragile,
broken heart.
"He hung himself because he was too weak,
too pathetic to face the reality that he had abandoned you,
that he had stolen from his best friend,
and that his own wife and legitimate children celebrated the day he was locked in a cage."
Lucas began to weep,
loud,
broken,
ugly sobs that echoed pathetically off the expensive,
soundproof glass of the towering executive office.
"You are not a righteous avenger,
Lucas," I whispered,
standing over his weeping,
shattered form,
feeling absolutely no pity,
no remorse,
and no mercy in my cold,
iron heart.
"You are just the sad,
forgotten bastard of two weak,
corrupt people,
May you like
and you just handed me the very last remnants of their pathetic,
worthless legacy."
