Chapter 3
The office sank into a silence like the bottom of a grave.
Only Elaine's ragged, furious breathing hissed through the speaker, filling the void.
I switched off the recording and slid the old phone back into my bag, carrying out the entire process calmly and unhurriedly.
I lifted my gaze to Michael.
The color had drained from his face entirely.
Pain, shame, rage, and disappointment flickered across his face before finally giving way to utter exhaustion.
He looked as though he'd aged a decade in the span of a minute.
His wife had used the most venomous language imaginable to humiliate his most valuable employee.
She hadn't merely stolen a worker's hard-earned money; she'd wielded his name like a weapon, lording over people, treating the very foundation of his company like dirt beneath her heel.
Words like "Replaceable part." "A dog.", spoken by Elaine, played back through a recording into Michael's ears; they were the loudest, most resounding slap he'd ever received.
It was a slap across his face, and straight through his heart.
"Michael... let me explain... it's not what you think..."
Elaine's voice finally returned from the other end of the line, stammering, incoherent, grasping at straws.
"She... she provoked me on purpose. She insulted me first. That recording is edited. It's fake."
At this point, her excuses were tissue-thin.
Michael raised his hand slowly and picked up the phone from the desk. He brought it to his ear.
His movements were slow, as if he were exerting all his strength.
"Elaine." His voice was hoarse.
"When we got married, I gave you an unlimited black card. I told you every household expense, anything you want, just swipe it.
"My wife should never have to worry about something as trivial as money.
"Your annual allowance from me is eight figures.
"So tell me, why did you need to touch Ryan's measly two hundred thousand in year-end bonus?"
Each question landed like a sledgehammer, on Elaine's conscience, and on mine.
So she'd never lacked for money.
None of this had ever been about the money.
It was about power, about the intoxicating thrill of holding someone's livelihood in her fist and squeezing, and about proving that I was worth nothing in her presence.
On the other end, Elaine was struck speechless.
"I... I was only trying to cut her down to size for you..." She was still clawing at the last shred of defense.
"People told me she's been getting too big for her boots lately, acting like she doesn't answer to you anymore. I wanted to cut her down to size before she became a real problem..."
Michael let out a single, clipped laugh, devoid of warmth.
"Cut her down to size?
"You went after my most critical project director. You severed my company's right arm. And you call that doing me a favor?
"Elaine, you disappoint me."
He didn't give her another second to explain. The line went dead.
Then he slammed the phone face-down onto the desk. The dull thud reverberated through the room.
He raised his head. His bloodshot eyes found mine.
He said, "I'm sorry."
The words came out heavy with remorse and exhaustion.
"This was my oversight.
"As Elaine's husband, I'm sorry that she put you through this."
I said nothing. I simply watched him.
An apology was useless.
The damage was done.
Once trust cracked, it never mended the same.
"The money will be returned to you," Michael continued.
"On top of that, I'll issue an additional two hundred thousand dollars as compensation for what you've been put through.
"David will be terminated immediately and referred to the authorities.
"As for Elaine..."
He paused here. A flash of pain crossed his face.
He continued, "I will give you an explanation.
"Ryan, for the sake of... for the sake of five years together at this company, can you...
"Stay?"
Finally, he let slip what he was really after.
All those apologies and attempts to make it up to me were just so I'd stay.
The project I landed for the company was about to hit its most important stage next month.
I was the one who handled it from beginning to end; nobody knew the ins and outs better than me.
If I walked away, this multi-billion-dollar project would probably stall out.
That was what he really cared about.
I looked into his hopeful eyes and slowly shook my head.
"Mr. Reed, it's too late," I said.
I felt nothing for him anymore.
I couldn't stand another second here; just being in this place made my skin crawl.
"My resignation's already in," I said.
"I'm not coming back tomorrow."
I left no room for negotiation; my attitude was resolute.
All the color drained from Michael's face.
He knew he couldn't keep me here anymore.
He, or really, his wife, had shattered his greatest asset.
I turned, pulled open the office door, and walked out.
Behind me, Michael collapsed into his chair, his dignity in tatters.
I didn't look back.
As I stepped out of NovaTech Tower, the sunlight was just right.
I took a deep breath of fresh air, feeling a weight lift off my shoulders.
My phone buzzed.
It was a bank notification.
[Your savings account ending in 3945 has received 400,000 dollars. Current balance: 400,200 dollars.]
The money had hit my account.
There was two hundred grand for the year-end bonus and another two hundred for compensation.
Michael didn't waste any time.
But I knew this wasn't just about making things right.
This was hush money.
He was afraid I'd expose everything and destroy NovaTech's reputation, and his marriage.
I smiled and deleted the message.
He thought money could fix everything.
But he didn't realize there were some things money couldn't buy back, like trust, or what I was about to do next.
I didn't head straight home.
The taxi pulled up in front of another office building downtown.
This wasn't one of those sleek, modern glass towers like NovaTech Tower. It was an older, stately building, with a brass plaque at the entrance that read "Zenith Holdings."
Zenith Holdings was NovaTech's parent company, and the foundation of the Reed family's empire.
Michael's father, Richard Reed, the self-made business legend, had retired, but his office was still here.
I walked into the lobby, and the receptionist greeted me respectfully.
"Ms. Summers, Mr. Reed is waiting for you," she said.
I nodded and headed straight for the private elevator.
Half an hour earlier, while I was in the taxi leaving NovaTech, I called Richard's secretary.
I told her I was Ryan Summers, and I had an urgent matter about a major operational risk at NovaTech that I needed to report to Richard in person.
Five minutes later, I got the green light.
The elevator doors slid open, revealing a classic, old-fashioned reception room.
Richard sat in a large armchair at the head of the room, a cup of hot coffee in his hand. Steam curled up, softening the stern lines of his face.
He looked to be in his sixties, but he was alert and full of energy, his eyes sharp and piercing.
"Glad you made it, Ryan. Sit down," Richard said.
He gestured to the chair across from him, his tone calm.
I walked over, took a seat, and set my briefcase on my lap.
"Mr. Reed," I said, keeping my voice steady.
"You said there's a major operational risk?" He set his cup down and looked at me. "What trouble has my son gotten into now?"
The way he said "again" made it clear he knew all about Michael's track record.