Chapter 10 - A New Era
Six months later.
Belmont Logistics had been entirely absorbed and rebranded under the Apex umbrella. I purged the toxic old-guard leadership, promoted innovative young executives from within their ranks, and injected the capital needed to modernize their supply chain. The company was profitable again, saving three thousand jobs.
I was standing at the window of my corner office, looking down at the bustling streets of Manhattan.
My assistant, Clara, walked in holding a tablet. "Mr. Thorne, the quarterly reports are in. We exceeded projections by fourteen percent."
"Excellent work, Clara. Make sure the operational bonuses are distributed by Friday."
"Of course," she said. She hesitated for a moment. "Also... I saw the news alert this morning. I thought you might want to know. Eleanor Belmont was sentenced today."
I turned around, raising an eyebrow. "And?"
"Four years in federal prison," Clara said quietly. "Her divorce with Richard was finalized last week. He's reportedly living in a one-bedroom apartment in Queens, working as a mid-level consultant for a minor shipping firm. She has zero assets left to her name."
I took a slow breath, letting the information wash over me.
There was no joy in ruining a life, but there was a profound, unyielding satisfaction in delivering absolute justice. Eleanor Belmont had believed that her wealth, her skin color, and her husband's name made her a god among mortals. She believed she could treat people like dirt beneath her expensive shoes.
She had found out the hard way that true power doesn't need to scream on an airplane. True power sits quietly, smiles, and buys the airplane.
"Thank you, Clara," I said, turning back to the window. "Send a new bespoke suit to the tailor. Armani. And tell them to make sure it's stain-resistant."
May you like
Clara smiled. "Right away, Mr. Thorne."
I looked out over the city. The sky was clear, the future was bright, and the empire was secure. I had taken the worst of humanity and spun it into gold. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that no one would ever dare spill a drink on me again.
