Chapter 7 - The Confrontation
Two minutes later, the double doors opened.
Madeline Sinclair walked into my office. The arrogant, triumphant heiress from the night before was completely gone. She wore a simple trench coat, dark sunglasses covering her red, swollen eyes, and no jewelry. She looked fragile, nervous, and utterly stripped of her pride.
She stood in the center of the vast office, staring at me sitting behind the massive mahogany desk. She looked at the Harrington crest engraved in gold behind my chair, then at the team of high-powered attorneys sitting at the conference table in the corner.
“Abigail…” Madeline began, her voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.
“Ms. Harrington,” I corrected her firmly, without raising my voice. “Sit down, Madeline.”
Madeline swallowed hard, her hand trembling as she pulled out the leather chair across from me and sat down slowly.
“I came here to… to apologize,” Madeline stammered, taking off her sunglasses to reveal heavy dark circles under her eyes. “I didn't know, Ms. Harrington. I swear to God I didn't know about you or your daughter! Christopher told me he was completely single. He told me the St. Paul house was an investment property he rented out to a distant relative!”
“And you believed him?” I asked, leaning forward on my desk. “Or did you just not care enough to check because his company’s technology was going to double your family’s stock value?”
Madeline flinched as if she had been slapped.
“My father is ruined,” Madeline wept quietly, hiding her face in her hands. “Sinclair Capital’s stock plummeted forty percent when the market opened this morning. The banks are calling in our loans. The board is filing a motion to remove my father as chairman! We’re going to lose everything!”
I watched her cry with a completely detached expression.
“You stood on that stage last night, Madeline,” I reminded her coldly. “You looked at a seven-year-old girl holding a gift for her father, and you called her a lower-class distraction. You told security to throw us out into the rain.”
“I was stupid!” Madeline sobbed desperately. “I was arrogant! I was trying to protect my image! Please, Ms. Harrington… I know your family has the power to save Sinclair Capital. If you release a public statement saying that Sinclair Capital was an innocent victim of Christopher’s fraud, the stock will stabilize! My family won't be bankrupt!”
I took a slow breath, letting the silence stretch in the massive room until the only sound was Madeline’s ragged breathing.
“Sinclair Capital wasn't an innocent victim,” I said clearly. “Your father knew Christopher’s company was rushing its filings. He skipped due diligence because he was greedy. He wanted my patents, and he didn't care whose bones he crushed to get them.”
I leaned back in my chair.
“I will not release a statement, Madeline. I will not save your stock. And as of nine o'clock this morning, the Harrington Trust has initiated a hostile takeover bid for sixty percent of Sinclair Capital’s distressed shares.”
Madeline’s eyes snapped wide open in horror. “You’re… you’re buying my family’s company?”
“I am buying it,” I corrected her, “for pennies on the dollar. And the very first thing I am going to do as majority owner is remove your father from the board and strip your family of all executive privileges.”
Madeline stood up, her face twisted in shock and rage. “You’re a monster! We were lied to just like you were!”
“No, Madeline,” I said, standing up to meet her gaze. “You chose to blind yourself with money. I was blind because I believed in love. There is a very big difference.”
I signaled to the security officer standing by the door.
“Escort Ms. Sinclair out of the building. And make sure she uses the service elevator.”
Madeline gasped, her jaw open in utter humiliation, as the tall security guard stepped in front of her. “Right this way, ma'am.”
She turned and stumbled out of the office, her heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as she sobbed.
Thomas walked up beside me, handing me a leather fountain pen.
“The acquisition paperwork for Sinclair Capital is ready for your signature, Chairwoman,” Thomas said with a soft smile.
May you like
I took the pen, signing my name—Abigail Harrington—in bold, sweeping cursive across the bottom of the multi-million-dollar contract.
“One down,” I murmured. “Now let’s visit Christopher in his cell.”
