Chapter 3
Richard dropped the act, sat straight up, and ripped the tape off his hand—the needle had never even touched a vein, just taped there for show.
"Come on! Call our lawyer and get this notarized before anyone changes their mind!" he urged.
The family buzzed with excitement, not even glancing at Emily.
She was invisible to them.
Emily stood up, smoothing her clothes.
She turned and headed for the door.
When she reached the doorway, she stopped and glanced back.
Back in the room, Lucas was cracking open a bottle of champagne he'd hidden in the cabinet. It looked like he'd been planning this celebration from the very beginning.
Pop! The cork shot out and hit the ceiling.
Champagne foam sprayed everywhere as Lucas laughed out loud, and Helen clapped her hands in delight.
The place was buzzing.
Emily thought it was quite a sight—just like a circus.
She pushed open the door and walked out.
The hallway was a bit chilly.
Emily headed to the elevator and pulled out her phone.
It was the company's top-tier business phone, loaded with every client's contact info and full admin access to the internal management system.
She used a SIM ejector tool to pop open the tray.
There were two SIM cards inside. One for work, one personal.
For ten years, that work number never powered down—she'd answered client calls at 3 AM like it was nothing.
She pulled out the work SIM and pinched it between her fingers.
One quick twist, and the chip snapped in half.
She tossed it.
The card arced perfectly into the stainless-steel trash can in the corner.
"Goodbye," she whispered to the trash can.
The elevator doors opened, and she stepped in without looking back.
Outside the hospital, the sunlight was blinding.
Emily grabbed a cab and headed to the most expensive café downtown.
She ordered an extra-strong iced Americano with three shots.
This was her life-saving brew.
She settled by the window and fired up her laptop.
This laptop was hers—bought with her own money, nothing to do with the company.
The screen lit up, and she logged into a chat app with a black interface.
In a group called Killshot Hour, messages were flying.
Code King: [Boss, is it true you left?]
Ops Baldy: [Seriously? That clown Lucas is in charge now? Why should we stick around?]
Algorithm Diva: [My resignation's ready—just say the word and I'm out.]
This was Emily's elite tech crew, handpicked and poached over the years. Their loyalty was to her, not Bennett Logistics Corp.
Emily sipped her Americano, the bitterness sharpening her mind.
She typed quickly.
She typed quickly: [I've signed. The company's Lucas' now. Time to launch Plan B, as planned.]
The chat fell silent for a moment.
Then: [Received.]
Three minutes later, on the 28th floor of Bennett Logistics Corp HQ—the IT department—dozens of people stood up at once, packing their gear.
Keyboards, mice, action figures, plants—everything went into cardboard boxes.
Code King walked into the server room and entered a string of commands at the master terminal.
A scheduled lock program.
On the surface, everything seemed normal.
But in 48 hours, the company's Intelligent Supply Chain Management System—the brain behind millions in daily revenue—would switch to maintenance mode.
Without the top-level access key (which only Emily had), no one could bring it back online.
"Let's go, guys." Code hugged his box, took one last look at the empty office. "Let's leave our new chairman a clean battlefield."
The whole crew marched into the elevator.
The HR manager rushed out, panicked. "Hey! Where are you going? It's still working hours!"
Code adjusted his glasses and grinned. "We're taking collective annual leave. Oh, and our resignation letters are in Lucas' inbox—remind him to sign off."