Chapter 5 - The Mask Comes Off
Sloane Mercer gasped, clutching her father's arm so hard her manicured nails dug through his suit sleeve. "You... you're..."
Grace did not look at Sloane. She walked beside Dominic as he walked to the head of the mahogany table.
Dominic pulled out the executive leather chair at the head of the table for his wife. Grace sat down gracefully, crossing her ankles, resting her hands softly on the polished wood.
Dominic remained standing. He rested his large, powerful hands on the back of Grace's chair, looking down the length of the table at the six terrified people sitting across from him.
The silence in the room was absolute. The soft hum of the skyscraper's HVAC system was the only sound in the air.
Arthur Caldwell stood up so fast his chair scraped loudly against the marble floor inlay. "Mr. Rainer... please... I... I didn't know—"
"Sit down, Arthur," Dominic said softly.
The command wasn't shouted. It was delivered with the quiet, unquestioned gravity of a judge delivering a death sentence. Arthur Caldwell collapsed back into his seat as if his legs had given out beneath him.
Dominic slowly turned his head, his dark eyes locking onto Evan Caldwell.
Evan shrank back into his leather chair. The color had fled his face entirely, leaving his skin a sickly, greyish green.
"Mr. Caldwell," Dominic spoke, his voice smooth, deep, and chillingly precise. "Six months ago, my wife and I were married in a small chapel on the Eastern Shore. Grace chose to keep her maiden name, her job at Harbor House, and her independent life because she values genuine human character over wealth and status. She wanted to see how the world treats an ordinary woman."
Dominic leaned forward slightly, resting his palms on the polished mahogany.
"Last night, you and Miss Mercer showed her."
Evan swallowed hard, his throat dry as dust. "Mr. Rainer... it was... it was an awful mistake. I had no idea she was your wife! If I had known—"
"If you had known she was my wife, you would have smiled, bowed, and treated her like royalty," Dominic interrupted, his tone laced with absolute contempt. "Which means your courtesy is not a virtue, Mr. Caldwell. It is merely a coward's survival strategy."
Dominic reached down and tapped the sleek black control panel in the middle of the table.
The motorized blinds covering the floor-to-ceiling glass windows slowly descended, darkening the boardroom. A massive high-definition projector screen lowered from the ceiling behind Dominic and Grace.
With a soft hum, the screen flickered to life.
It was Sloane’s live-stream video from Friday night at Harbor House.
The high-definition speakers built into the ceiling blared Sloane’s bright, obnoxious voice into the quiet boardroom:
"Oops! Looks like the big girl wasn’t fast enough to get out of the way!"
On the screen, ice and dark brown soda cascaded over Grace’s white blouse, soaking her hair, running down her apron onto her shoes.
Then came Evan’s voice, clear, crisp, and amplified:
"I told you she wouldn’t move! What’s her husband going to do, challenge me to a pie-eating contest?!"
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Dominic pressed a button, freezing the video frame right on Evan’s laughing face, next to Grace’s calm, dignified posture as she stood drenched in soda.
Dominic looked back at Evan. "Tell me, Mr. Caldwell. Does my wife look like a punchline to you now?"
