Chapter 8
Chapter 8 - The Untouchable Crown .The transition from a quiet architect of tech to the undisputed, public-facing Sovereign of Vanguard Technologies was seamless, though it sent shockwaves through the upper echelons of the financial world. Within six months of Elliot’s departure, the company’s valuation had surged by forty percent. The market, initially hesitant about the sudden "personal leave" of its charismatic frontman, quickly realized that the real brain behind Vanguard had finally stepped into the light. I sat in my new office—the entire top floor of the Vanguard Tower, completely gutted of Elliot’s leather couches and ostentatious sports trophies. Now, it was a minimalist sanctuary of white marble, brushed platinum, and glass that looked out over the entire Boston harbor.
"The merger with NexaCorp is officially finalized, Ms. Davenport," Marcus said, placing a slim digital tablet on my desk. "The press is calling it the most aggressive tech acquisition of the decade. Forbes wants you for the cover of their winter issue. 'The Ice Queen of Silicon Valley,' they’re calling you."
"Let them call me whatever keeps the competitors awake at night, Marcus," I replied, not looking up from my monitors. "What about the legacy liabilities?"
Marcus didn't need a definition. 'Legacy liabilities' was our internal code for anything relating to Elliot Vance.
"Elliot’s former apartment in South Boston was vacated last week," Marcus reported, checking his notes. "He couldn't keep up with the rent after the logistics firm laid off their entry-level staff. According to our tracking, he’s currently renting a room in a shared apartment in Lynn. No car. He takes the commuter rail."
"And Julianna?"
"Still in Miami. Her real estate developer was indicted for tax evasion last month. She’s currently trying to sell her designer handbags on secondary markets to pay her lease."
I let out a faint, amused hum. It was exactly where they belonged—reduced to statistics, moving parts in a socio-economic machine that had chewed them up and spat them out the moment they lost my backing.
"Good. Keep the monitoring passive. I don't want a single dollar of corporate resources spent on active surveillance unless they step within a five-mile radius of a Vanguard property," I commanded.
Just as Marcus nodded and turned to leave, the private line on my desk began to buzz. It was a restricted number, one that bypassed the triple-layer screening process of my administrative assistants. Only three people had this number. One was Eleanor. One was Arthur.
I picked up the receiver. "Davenport."
"Victoria," a voice whispered on the other end. It was ragged, hollow, and filtering through what sounded like the heavy static of a cheap payphone or a failing cellular connection.
It was Elliot.
"You shouldn't have this number, Elliot," I said, my voice dropping into a register so cold it could have frozen water. "This line is private property."
"Please, Victoria, don't hang up," he begged, his voice cracking with a desperation that sounded almost unhinged. "I’m not calling to ask for money. I’m not calling to threaten you. I just... I need you to make them stop."
I paused, my fingers hovering over the disconnect button. "Make who stop?"
"The banks. The employers. Every time I apply for a job—even a basic retail job, Victoria—the interview goes perfectly until the background check comes back. Then they look at me like I’m a biohazard. I can't even get a job delivering food. Someone is blacklisting me. It’s you, isn't it? You're systematically erasing my ability to survive."
I leaned back in my ergonomic leather chair, looking out at the gray Boston skyline. "You overestimate my pettiness, Elliot. I haven't blacklisted you. Blacklisting requires effort, and as I told you before, you are no longer an active project on my spreadsheet."
"Then who is doing it?!" he cried out, a sob escaping his throat. "I’m starving, Victoria. I haven't eaten a real meal in three days. I’m living with four strangers who steal my things. If it’s not you, then who?"
"The world is doing it to you, Elliot," I said smoothly. "You were the CEO of a multi-billion-dollar tech firm who was publicly disgraced for fraud and embezzlement. You don't need a blacklist. The internet is your blacklist. Every HR algorithm in the country is designed to screen out liabilities like you. You built your own cage; the market is just locking the door."
There was a long, horrifying silence on the line, broken only by the sound of his ragged breathing.
"I have nothing left," he whispered. "Nothing."
May you like
"Then you finally have an accurate valuation," I said, and calmly pressed the red button, terminating the call.
I turned back to my monitors. The stock ticker for Vanguard Technologies was flashing green. +2.4% in afternoon trading. The crown was heavy, but it was entirely mine, and no ghost from the past was going to tarnish it.
