Chapter 4 - Behind Closed Doors
“Upstairs. Now.”
Maxwell’s command brooked no argument. He grabbed the small canvas bag, gently placed the toddler’s shoe back inside with a reverence that shocked everyone present, and turned toward the private executive elevator.
“Rebecca. You too.”
Rebecca’s knees wobbled, but she managed to force a stiff, defiant posture. “Max, you can’t possibly believe the rambling of a deranged cleaning lady over your own sister! This is a corporate sabotage attempt! Call the police—have her thrown out of the city!”
“The police are already on their way, Rebecca,” Maxwell said coldly as the private elevator doors slid open. “Not for her. For you.”
Within minutes, the three of them stood inside the sprawling, glass-walled office on the eightieth floor. Chicago stretched out below them under a leaden winter sky, the sprawling expanse of the city looking small and insignificant from such a height. But inside the room, the tension was suffocating.
Maxwell sat behind his massive mahogany desk, but he didn't look like a billionaire CEO. He looked like a man whose entire world had just unraveled.
He placed Abigail’s canvas bag on the corner of his desk. Then he looked up at Abigail, who stood quietly near the door, refusing to sit down despite his gesture.
“Ms. Vance,” Maxwell began, his voice strained. “If what you’re saying is true... why didn’t you go to the police years ago? Why take a cleaning job here? Why wait five years?”
Abigail met his gaze without flinching. “Because five years ago, Mr. Avery, I had nothing. No money, no lawyer, no name, and no proof. Your family owned the judges, the police chiefs, and the newspapers. If I had gone to the authorities, I would have ended up in a ditch before the sun rose.”
“And why apply here?” Maxwell asked.
“Because ghosts don’t leave,” Abigail answered simply. “I wanted to see the people who traded my daughter’s life for a clean insurance payout. I wanted to watch you all walk across marble floors built on the ash of my family. And most of all... I wanted to find the truth.”
Rebecca paced near the floor-to-ceiling window, her face flushed with frantic anger. “Max, this is insane! She’s extorting us! Look at her—she’s a common laborer trying to shake down the Avery family for a payday! If you let her walk out of here with a single cent, you’ll destroy everything our father built!”
“Our father built this empire on blood, Rebecca,” Maxwell said quietly, standing up from his desk. He walked slowly toward his sister, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the carpet. “And you poured the concrete over the graves.”
Rebecca stopped pacing. Her eyes darted toward the door, then back to Maxwell. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to do what should have been done nine years ago,” Maxwell said. He reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his personal phone, and dialed a direct extension. “Victor? Send federal investigators up to the eightieth floor. And notify the Board of Directors that an emergency session is commencing in twenty minutes.”
Rebecca lunged forward, her voice pitching into a hysterical shriek. “You can’t do that! I’m the CFO! I signed off on the acquisitions! If I go down, I’m taking the entire company down with me! I have the offshore account records! I have the wire transfers! I have the names of every politician we bought off to clear the warehouse title!”
May you like
Maxwell stopped. He looked at his sister, a bitter, self-loathing smile touching his lips.
“I know you do, Rebecca,” Maxwell said softly. “And that’s why I’m looking forward to reading every single one of them.”
