Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
Z
At 8:30 the following morning, I walked through the glass doors of Vale Enterprises on South Wacker Drive.
I was wearing a tailored black suit I’d borrowed from Sienna, a pair of dark sunglasses, and no wig. My fully shaved head was exposed to the world, a silent, striking badge of the night before.
The lobby security guards, who usually bowed their heads and called me "Mrs. Vale," froze when they saw me. They didn't know about the shaved head, but they certainly knew about the storm that had brewed overnight. Rumors in the city traveled faster than bullet trains.
I took the private elevator directly to the 45th floor—the executive suite.
When the doors opened, Dominic was standing behind his massive mahogany desk, staring out at the hazy Chicago skyline. He looked like he hadn't slept a second. His white shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, his tie loosened, and dark shadows bruised the skin beneath his eyes.
Beside him stood his chief legal counsel, Marcus Vance—a shark in a three-piece suit who had kept Dominic out of federal court for over a decade.
When Dominic turned and saw me, his eyes widened slightly. He took in my shaved head, my sharp suit, and the utter lack of fear in my posture. For a brief second, pain flashed across his face—real, raw pain at seeing what had been done to me.
"Elena," he breathed, stepping around the desk.
"Marcus," I said, ignoring my husband entirely and nodding at the lawyer. "Are the transfer documents ready?"
Marcus looked uncomfortably between Dominic and me. "Mrs. Vale, standard corporate transfers of commercial real estate usually require a thirty-day review period, specifically concerning outstanding liabilities and tax—"
"Is the deed ready or not?" I interrupted, placing both hands flat on the desk.
Dominic reached out, touching a thick folder bound in blue leather. "It's ready. The Monarch Room, its land lease, and all associated liquor and operating licenses are being transferred to an LLC owned solely by you. No strings. No oversight."
I picked up the pen sitting beside the folder. "Sign it, Dominic."
He looked at me, his dark eyes searching my face for any sign of the gentle, compliant woman he had married three years ago. "If I sign this... do we go home?"
"We are not a home right now, Dom," I said coldly. "We are a transaction. You broke the terms of our marriage when you lied to me for three months. You turned my life into a sick social experiment. Now sign."
Dominic took a slow breath, picked up the pen, and signed his name in bold, sweeping strokes across the bottom of the document. Marcus quickly notarized it, stamping the heavy red seal onto the paper.
It was official. I was no longer a waitress at the Monarch Room. I was its sole owner.
"Thank you," I said, sliding the folder into my bag. I turned to leave.
"Elena, wait," Dominic said, his voice laced with a sudden, sharp desperation. He stepped around the desk and caught my wrist—gently, but firmly enough to stop me. "You think I did this out of control. You think I bought that place because I wanted to own you."
"Didn't you?" I asked, staring down at his hand on my wrist until he slowly let go.
"Graham Hale didn't call you last night to protect you from me," Dominic said, his eyes narrowing as his terrifying, predatory intellect came back online. "He called you because he was trying to trigger exactly this. He wanted you to leave me."
I frowned, pausing near the office door. "What are you talking about?"
"Graham Hale isn't just a city developer, Elena," Dominic said, stepping closer. "He's the chairman of the consortium trying to buy the Port of Chicago. I've been blocking his bid for six months. Three months ago, I discovered that Graham was using the Monarch Room to launder kickbacks to city council members."
My heart gave a sudden, violent thud. "What?"
"I didn't buy the restaurant to spy on you, Elena," Dominic whispered, standing inches from me now. "I bought the restaurant because I found out Graham Hale's people were planning to use that exact venue to trap me in a federal corruption sting. When you insisted on working there, you walked straight into the middle of a war zone. I couldn't tell you without exposing the entire federal investigation. I bought the building to keep you from becoming collateral damage!"
I stared at him, my mind spinning into overdrive. The pieces were shifting, twisting into an even darker picture.
"If that's true..." I murmured, "then last night... Preston Hale's birthday party..."
"Wasn't an accident," Dominic finished, his face terrifyingly solemn. "Preston was drunk, yes. But he was instructed to start a fight with you. They wanted me to come into that restaurant and pull a weapon, or use my security team to assault a city official's son. They wanted to ruin me publicly so I'd lose the port deal."
I felt the blood drain from my face. Preston hadn't just been a spoiled, cruel bully picking on a waitress. He had been a guided missile, aimed directly at my husband—and I had been the target used to arm it.
Before I could process the realization, Marcus’s office phone rang violently.
The lawyer picked it up, listened for two seconds, and his face turned the color of chalk. He looked up at Dominic, his eyes wide with horror.
"Dominic," Marcus said, his voice trembling. "It's the State's Attorney. They just released a warrant."
May you like
Dominic's eyes narrowed. "For Preston Hale?"
"No," Marcus whispered, looking at me with absolute dread. "For you. Graham Hale just turned over security footage from three months ago. They're charging you with corporate espionage, extortion... and the orchestrating of the assault on your own wife to frame the Hale family."
