Chapter 7 - THE LOYALTY TEST
Brielle backed away until her spine hit the stainless-steel refrigerator. Her chest heaved beneath her designer coat, her eyes darting frantically toward the hallway as if looking for a way to escape.
“You... you can’t be here,” she stammered, her voice shaking violently. “This is breaking and entering! I’ll call security! I’ll call Dean!”
“Go ahead,” I said, gesturing to her shattered phone on the floor. “Call him. Tell him his wife and his son are here to review the accounting logs with you.”
Brielle swallowed hard, her gaze shifting to Lucas, who stood by the door with his arms crossed, his expression a chilling replica of his grandfather’s wartime demeanor.
“Mrs. Mercer, please,” Brielle’s voice cracked, the polished corporate facade completely crumbling away. “I was just following orders! Dean said you were checked out of the marriage anyway! He said you were a cold, absentee wife who didn't care about the business! He promised me a secure future for my baby!”
“Your baby?” I stepped closer, looking down at her with a mixture of pity and disgust. “Do you honestly believe Dean cares about a child that isn't even born yet? Brielle, he’s spent the last three years embezzling millions from Redstone to fund Arthur Vance’s hostile takeover. The moment he takes control of my father’s company, do you think he’s going to stick around to play domestic bliss with his executive assistant?”
She flinched. The doubt flickered visibly in her eyes.
“He... he loves me,” she whispered, though it sounded like she was trying to convince herself more than me.
“He doesn't love anyone, Brielle,” Lucas spoke up from the doorway, his voice cutting through the kitchen like a razor. “Ask him about his first mistress ten years ago. Ask him how he disposed of her when she threatened to go public with his financial irregularities.”
Brielle stared at my son, her breath hitching. “What... what are you talking about?”
“Ask Harold Miller,” I continued smoothly, sliding a printed copy of the offshore wire logs across the kitchen island. “Or better yet, read the transfer receipts for the eight hundred thousand dollars you thought was coming your way tomorrow morning.”
Brielle looked down at the paper. Her eyes scanned the routing numbers.
“It... it’s blank,” she whispered, her hands flying to her mouth. “The transfer... it was intercepted.”
“Not intercepted,” I corrected softly. “Retreived. Returned to the rightful estate of Walter Hale.”
I leaned across the counter, locking my gaze onto hers.
“You have two choices, Brielle. You can take the fall for Arthur Vance and Dean Mercer tomorrow morning when federal investigators walk into the Redstone boardroom with these exact financial ledgers... or you can stand up in front of the board right beside me at 8:00 AM, tell the complete, unvarnished truth about who ordered the corporate fraud, and let my son’s legal team negotiate a plea deal that keeps you out of a federal prison cell.”
The silence in the luxury apartment was absolute.
Outside, the rain continued to lash against the glass, a relentless reminder of the storm waiting for us at the office.
Brielle looked down at the shattered phone on the floor.
Then she looked at me.
May you like
Slowly, the fight drained out of her shoulders. She slid down the side of the refrigerator until she sat on the floor, burying her face in her hands, and began to cry.
“I’ll do it,” she sobbed into her knees. “I’ll tell them everything.”
