Chapter 5 - The Eviction from the Glass Tower
Brandon swayed on his feet, his hands gripping the back of the high-backed leather executive chair to keep from collapsing onto the floorboards.
"No..." Brandon choked out, tears of bitter, panicked humiliation burning behind his eyelids. "No, this is impossible! Arthur wouldn't do this to me! I am his only son! You can't just walk in here with lawyers and strip my life away!"
"Your father didn't strip your life away, Brandon," Claire replied, her voice steady, quiet, and completely devoid of cruelty. "You did. You spent three years treating an honest marriage like a transaction you could renegotiate whenever a shinier contract walked into the room. You wanted an audience last night when you handed me a tray. Now you have one."
She turned to Daniel Mercer.
"Mr. Mercer, call the roll of the board."
Daniel Mercer raised his ledger. "All directors in favor of ratifying the immediate termination of Brandon Whitmore and the appointment of Claire Bennett as Executive Chairwoman of the Board of Directors, signify by saying aye."
Every single one of the twelve directors raised their hands without hesitation.
"Aye."
The vote was unanimous.
The corporate litigators and banking vice presidents who had laughed at Brandon’s jokes at the country club twelve hours earlier didn't even look at him. They were seasoned corporate predators; they knew where the capital sat, and the capital was standing before them in a charcoal suit, wearing William Bennett’s watch.
Claire looked at the two corporate security officers standing by the entrance doors.
"Escort Mr. Whitmore and Miss Cole from the executive premises," Claire commanded calmly. "Their personal belongings will be boxed and delivered to their respective private addresses by courier. All corporate credit facilities, vehicle leases, and building access cards are deactivated as of this second."
The two armed guards stepped forward, flanking Brandon.
"Mr. Whitmore," the lead officer said, his voice flat and formal. "Please surrender your building credential and step toward the service elevator."
Brandon looked at Claire, his chest heaving with ragged, terrified breaths, his aristocratic facade completely pulverized into dust.
"Claire... please," Brandon wept, his hands coming up in a desperate, pathetic plea. "We’re married! We made vows! We can talk about this! I was stressed about the succession! I didn't mean what I said last night—"
"You meant every word, Brandon," Claire whispered, her eyes clear, steady, and untouched by his tears. "You just didn't know who you were saying it to."
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She took her seat at the head of the obsidian table—the seat that had belonged to his family for forty years—and opened the primary operating ledger.
"Gentlemen," Claire addressed the twelve silent directors, never looking at Brandon again as he was escorted through the double doors into the hallway. "Let us review the third-quarter supply-chain performance. We have real work to do."
