Chapter 9 - The Ghost of the Past
Six months later.
The Seattle winter had settled in, casting a crisp, icy chill over the city. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of the CEO’s office, looking out at the skyline. The company was thriving. Stocks were up 15%. I had rebranded the toxic culture Julian left behind, and the industry was singing my praises.
The intercom buzzed. “Ms. Vance? There’s a... Julian outside. Security stopped him in the lobby. He’s asking for five minutes.”
I took a slow sip of my coffee. “Send him up. Have security escort him.”
Minutes later, the doors opened. Julian walked in, flanked by two massive guards. I barely recognized him. He was wearing a cheap, off-the-rack suit that didn't fit. His hair was unkempt, his eyes bloodshot, his face gaunt.
He had pled guilty to wire fraud to avoid federal prison, receiving five years of probation, community service, and total financial ruin. He was officially bankrupt.
“Clara,” he croaked.
“Julian,” I remained standing by the window. “Make it quick. I have a 10 AM with Tokyo.”
He swallowed hard, looking around the office that used to be his. “Maya filed for divorce. She took whatever cash wasn't seized. The bank foreclosed on the condo.” He looked at me, tears welling in his eyes. “I have nothing, Clara. I’m living in a motel.”
“And you came here for what? Pity?”
“I came to ask for a job,” he whispered, the ultimate humiliation breaking his voice. “Anything. A consultancy. A mid-level management role. I just need to survive, Clara. Please.”
I looked at the man who had once tried to destroy me. The man who had manipulated me, cheated on me, and tried to rip my child away.
“When I was crying in the mediation room, begging you to let me keep my family home, do you remember what you said to me?” I asked softly.
Julian looked down at his shoes.
“You said, ‘Business is ruthless, Clara. Adapt or die.’” I walked over to my desk and sat down. “I adapted, Julian. You didn't.”
“Please,” he begged.
May you like
“Security,” I said, not raising my voice. “Escort Mr. Vance out. And if he ever sets foot in this building again, have him arrested for trespassing.”
Julian began to weep as the guards grabbed his arms, dragging him out of the executive suite. The heavy glass doors sealed shut, cutting off the sound of his pathetic sobbing.
