Chapter 3 - Poison in the Well
Z
By noon, the atmosphere inside the headquarters of Morgan Events Group felt like a fallout shelter. Whispers traveled through the cubicles like wildfire. The news that the COO and the Head of Vendor Relations had been escorted out of the building by private security had officially broken, and morale was plummeting by the minute.
I locked myself in my office with our IT Director, Marcus, and my legal team.
"He used a secondary cloud portal he set up six months ago," Marcus said, his fingers flying across his mechanical keyboard as code scrolled rapidly across his monitors. "Julian had an admin backdoor. When he got booted from the building, his automated script kicked in. He managed to pull thirty percent of our high-value client contacts before I severed the link."
"Thirty percent," I repeated, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Which clients?"
Marcus pulled up a spreadsheet, highlighting the names in red. My stomach dropped. "The Vantage Hotel Group, the Sterling Gala Committee, and... the Vance Estate Wedding."
The Vance Estate Wedding was a six-million-dollar account—the biggest contract in our company's thirty-year history. It was a high-society event scheduled for November, sponsored by one of the wealthiest political families on the West Coast. Losing that contract wouldn't just hurt us financially; it would destroy our reputation permanently.
"Has he contacted them yet?" I asked.
"I don't know, but if I were Julian, that’s the first call I’d make," Sarah Sterling said from across the desk. "Nora, you need to understand the game Julian is playing. He isn't just trying to survive a divorce; he's trying to bankrupt Morgan Events Group so that your fifty-two percent stake becomes worthless in a property settlement. If he forces us into insolvency, he can buy the remains for pennies on the dollar during bankruptcy court."
The cold brutality of it hit me like a physical blow. Twelve years. Twelve years I had spent building a life with this man, making him coffee, ironing his shirts, cheering his promotions, trusting him in my bed and in my business. And all along, he was constructing a gallows to hang me with.
The phone on my desk rang. The caller ID displayed a name that made my pulse spike: Victoria Vance.
She wasn't related to Julian—the shared surname was a coincidence—but she was the matriarch of the Vance estate and the primary contact for the six-million-dollar event.
I took a deep breath, smoothing down my blazer, and picked up the receiver. "Victoria, good afternoon."
"Nora," Victoria’s voice came through the speaker, crisp, refined, and entirely devoid of warmth. "I just received a rather disturbing phone call from your husband... or should I say, your former Chief Operating Officer?"
"Victoria, I apologize for any distress—"
"Julian informed me that Morgan Events Group is currently facing severe structural instability," Victoria interrupted smoothly. "He claims that key personnel have departed, that your internal accounts are being frozen due to legal disputes, and that you no longer have the bandwidth or resources to execute my daughter's wedding."
I squeezed my eyes shut, gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles turned white. "Julian was terminated this morning for cause, Victoria. His claims are a desperate attempt to retaliate against this firm. Morgan Events Group is fully operational, and your event remains our absolute highest priority."
"Be that as it may, Nora," Victoria said, her tone hardening, "Julian was the mastermind behind the design and security logistics for our venue. He has already offered to handle the event through his new independent consulting firm at a twenty percent discount. In our contract, clause 14-B states that if there is a major leadership disruption at Morgan Events, I have the right to terminate our agreement without penalty within forty-eight hours."
Forty-eight hours.
"Give me twenty-four hours, Victoria," I pleaded, refusing to let the desperation show in my voice. "Let me present a revised master plan to you in person tomorrow morning. If you are not one hundred percent convinced that my team can deliver an flawless event, I will release you from the contract myself without charging a single fee."
Silence stretched over the line for three agonizing seconds.
"Tomorrow at nine o'clock at my estate, Nora," Victoria said cold-bloodedly. "If you are one minute late, or if your presentation is anything less than perfection, my attorneys will pull the plug."
The line went dead.
I slammed the receiver back onto its base and stood up. "Marcus, I need every file, every render, and every vendor contract associated with the Vance Wedding on my laptop right now."
"Nora," Marcus said hesitantly. "There’s a problem."
I looked at him. "What problem?"
"The physical design files and physical blueprints for the Vance event... they were stored in the two archive boxes Chloe carried out of the building last night."
A cold dread bloomed in my chest. They hadn't just stolen money. They had sabotaged our biggest contract, taken the design blueprints, and left us empty-handed, giving us less than twenty-four hours to recreate months of labor from scratch.
Just then, my personal phone buzzed on the desk. It was a text message from an unknown number. Attached was a photo.
I opened it. It was a picture taken inside a sleek, modern office space. Chloe was sitting on a leather sofa, holding a glass of champagne, while Julian stood over a drafting table littered with our blueprints for the Vance wedding.
Below the picture was a text from Julian:
Tick tock, Nora. Let's see how smart you are without my vision.
I stared at the screen, my heart pounding against my ribs, rage boiling over into a icy, lethal clarity. They thought they had broken me. They thought I was just the quiet girl who sat in the back office pushing papers while they played stars.
May you like
They were about to learn who actually ran this company.
"Marcus," I said, turning to my IT director with a voice as hard as flint. "Call the creative department. Tell everyone they are staying late tonight. We're ordering dinner, and nobody goes home until we build a presentation that will pull the rug right out from under Julian Vance."
