Chapter 7 - The Fallen King
The ground-floor lobby of Vance & Sterling Solutions was a masterclass in modern luxury—floors of polished white Italian marble, towering glass pillars, and a massive crystal chandelier.
When I stepped out of the private executive elevator, the contrast was jarring.
Standing near the rotating glass doors was David Vance. Or rather, the hollow, pathetic shell of what used to be David Vance.
His once-expensive designer suits were replaced by an ill-fitting, cheap polyester jacket that looked three sizes too big. His hair was streaked with heavy gray, thinning rapidly, and his face was bloated and pale, lined with the deep, permanent wrinkles of chronic bitterness and alcohol abuse. He was holding a piece of cardboard with messy black marker scrawled across it: LAUREN VANCE STOLE MY STARTUP!
Two local tabloid reporters were already snapping photographs, their camera flashes popping in rapid succession.
When David saw me step out of the elevator, a manic, desperate light flashed in his bloodshot eyes. He dropped the sign and lunged forward, though two of my private security guards instantly stepped in front of him, keeping him at bay.
"Lauren!" David shrieked, his voice cracking horribly. "Look at me! Look at what you did to me!"
The lobby went dead silent. Employees froze by the reception desks; visitors stopped in their tracks.
I didn't flinch. I walked slowly across the polished marble, stopping ten feet away from him. I didn't look like the terrified, pregnant woman he had tried to evict three years ago. I looked like an unshakeable queen looking down at a court jester.
"You’re making a scene, David," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the cavernous lobby. "And more importantly, you’re trespassing on private property."
"You ruined my life!" he sobbed, his hands trembling violently as he pointed a shaking finger at me. "You stole my company! You took everything I built while you sat at home! The court documents were rigged! You manipulated the judge!"
"The court documents proved you committed wire fraud, asset concealment, and perjury in an attempt to defraud a pregnant spouse," I replied, my tone entirely devoid of emotion. "You engineered your own destruction, David. I just didn't stop you."
"I have nothing!" he cried, tears finally spilling over his cheeks. "Peyton left me the second the money ran out! I live in a one-room studio apartment above a laundromat! I can't even afford a decent meal, while you live in a penthouse and play CEO! Have a heart, Lauren. Give me a settlement. Give me something!"
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The reporters were snapping pictures furiously, recording every pathetic word. David thought public humiliation would force my hand. He thought I would pay him off just to make the cameras go away.
He didn't realize who he was dealing with.
