Chapter 7 - The Collapse of an Empire
The fallout was swifter and more absolute than any corporate takeover in Wall Street history.
Within forty-eight hours of the gala, the SEC froze all corporate assets pending an investigation into Grant Mercer’s financial misappropriations—specifically the millions funneled into offshore shell accounts shared with Serena Cross.
The board of directors, desperate to save what remained of Helix One’s reputation, voted unanimously to ratify Amelia’s emergency appointment as interim Chairwoman and CEO.
In the penthouse office overlooking Central Park—the very office Grant had used to boast about his dominance—Amelia sat behind the massive mahogany desk. The hickory cane had long since been removed, tossed into an industrial incinerator by federal investigators as material evidence of aggravated domestic assault.
The heavy oak doors swung open without a knock.
Grant Mercer stumbled into the room. He looked ten years older. His designer suit was wrinkled, his hair uncombed, his eyes bloodshot and frantic. He had been locked out of his corporate accounts, his personal credit cards had been declined across the city, and three different venture capital firms had filed civil lawsuits against him for fraudulent misrepresentation.
“Amelia,” Grant breathed, his voice cracking as he rushed toward the desk. He caught himself on the edge, his hands shaking violently. “Amelia, please. We can talk about this. It was a mistake. The stress of the merger... I snapped. You know how much pressure I was under—”
Amelia didn't look up from the financial audit reports she was reviewing.
“Where is Serena?” Amelia asked quietly, her pen moving smoothly across the paper.
Grant flinched as if struck. “Serena? She’s gone. The moment the bank accounts were frozen, she packed her bags and checked into a flight for Zurich. She didn't even care about me, Amelia—she was using me the whole time! You were right about her! It was all her fault!”
Amelia finally stopped writing. She raised her slate-gray eyes and looked at the man who had once believed he was untouchable.
“She was using you,” Amelia agreed calmly. “Because you were arrogant enough to think you could buy loyalty with stolen money and a borrowed empire.”
Grant dropped to his knees on the Persian rug, clutching the edge of the mahogany desk, tears spilling over his cheeks. “Please, Amelia. Seven years. Remember the studio in Queens? Remember when we had nothing? I’ll go to therapy. I’ll sign whatever prenup you want. Just don't let your father put me in prison. They’re talking twenty years for the financial fraud and the assault charges—”
“My father isn't putting you in prison, Grant,” Amelia said, her voice entirely devoid of warmth. “The State of New York is. And Marcus Vance is making sure the prosecutor’s office has every single text message, bank transfer, and medical report.”
She pressed the intercom button on her desk.
“Security,” Amelia said crisply. “Please escort Mr. Mercer out of the building. And make sure he doesn't touch anything on his way down.”
May you like
Two corporate security guards stepped into the office, grabbing Grant by the shoulders. He thrashed and screamed, his protests echoing down the marble hallway until the heavy doors clicked shut, sealing him out of her life forever.
Amelia leaned back in her leather chair, closed her eyes for three long seconds, and took her first truly deep, painless breath in seven years.
