Chapter 3 - The Scramble of the Rats
Brendan Morrison did not walk out of the private elevator on the fiftieth floor; he stumbled, his hair disheveled, his expensive Brioni suit wrinkled as if he had slept in it on a park bench. The smug, arrogant CEO-in-training who had lorded over family dinners was entirely gone. In his place was a desperate, sweating man on the verge of a total psychological breakdown.
He burst through the double doors of my executive suite, panting heavily, his eyes wild and bloodshot.
“Cassidy!” he shouted, gasping for breath as he crossed the plush carpet toward my desk. “What the hell is going on? My cards are blocked! My bank accounts are showing zero balance! They locked me out of my office downstairs, and security just threw me out of the building!”
I didn't stand up. I remained seated behind my massive mahogany desk, my hands resting calmly over my growing baby bump. I looked at him not with anger, but with a chilling, clinical detachment.
Brendan reached the edge of the desk, slamming his palms onto the wood and leaning over toward me. “Did you do this? Was this some kind of sick joke? Some pathetic prank because my mother yelled at you last night?”
“A prank, Brendan?” I asked quietly, my voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel. “You think losing everything you stole is a prank?”
“Stole? What are you talking about? I worked my ass off for this company! I earned my position!” He laughed hysterically, shaking his head. “You’re a housewife! You don't even know what EBITDA stands for! You couldn't freeze a bank account if your life depended on it! Call your father—whoever handles your trust fund—tell them to fix this right now before I—”
“Before you what?”
A cold, calm voice interrupted from the doorway.
Arthur Vance stepped out of the adjoining private conference room, holding a thick leather-bound dossier. He walked slowly toward the desk, stopping just beside Brendan.
Brendan blinked, staring at Arthur as if he were seeing a ghost. “Arthur... tell security to drag this man out of here. He’s an impostor! He’s crazy!”
Arthur didn't blink. He opened the dossier and flipped to the first page, holding it out so Brendan could see the bold black lettering at the top.
VANE ENTERPRISES GLOBAL HOLDINGS — PRINCIPAL BENEFICIARY & SOLE OWNER: CASSIDY VANE.
Brendan’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. The color drained from his face so fast he looked like a corpse under fluorescent lights. He snatched the paper from Arthur’s hand, his eyes scanning the legal seals, the corporate governance charters, and the verified signatures dating back five years.
“Vane...” Brendan whispered, his voice cracking into a pathetic squeak. “Cassidy... Vane? No... no, that’s impossible. Vane Enterprises is owned by the Vane family... the multi-billion-dollar shipping dynasty... founders of the entire global logistics grid...”
“My father was Richard Vane,” I said softly, standing up from my chair at last.
I smoothed down the front of my dress, walking slowly around the desk until I stood just a few feet away from him. At five-foot-seven, I had to look slightly up at him, but in that moment, I towered over him like a giant.
“He built this company from a single cargo truck in 1985,” I continued, my voice echoing in the vast office. “When he passed away, he left every single share, every building, and every asset to his only child. Me.”
Brendan staggered backward, his knees buckling slightly as he collided with a decorative credenza, knocking over a crystal vase that shattered into a thousand pieces against the hardwood floor.
“You... you lied to me,” he whispered, tears of pure terror and rage spilling over his eyelids. “You lived in that tiny apartment with me... you ate cheap takeout... you let my mother treat you like garbage... why? Why would you do that?!”
“Because I wanted to see who you really were,” I replied, my voice hard as iron. “I wanted to see if a man who had nothing would still be decent when he thought he was marrying someone below his station. And you weren't. You were cruel, greedy, abusive, and entirely devoid of human empathy. You and your mother built an entire lifestyle on stolen dividends and psychological torture.”
Brendan fell to his knees on the floor, right among the shards of broken crystal, clutching at the hem of my trousers.
“Cassidy... please,” he sobbed, pressing his forehead against the carpet. “We’re married. We’re having a baby! Think of our daughter! Drop the charges, restore the accounts, please! I’ll do anything! I’ll cut my mother off! I’ll bow down to you every day of my life!”
I looked down at him with absolute, profound pity.
“You’re right about one thing, Brendan,” I said softly, stepping out of his reach. “We are having a baby. And that is exactly why you are never, ever going to touch a single penny of my money again.”
I nodded once toward the door.
Arthur opened the heavy wooden panels, and two federal marshals in dark suits stepped into the office, their steel handcuffs gleaming under the office lights.
“Brendan Morrison,” the lead marshal announced, grabbing Brendan by the shoulders and hauling him to his feet. “You’re under arrest for corporate embezzlement, wire fraud, and grand larceny. Put your hands behind your back.”
May you like
As they dragged him screaming and kicking out of the executive suite, I walked back to my desk, sat down, and looked out over the sparkling expanse of Lake Michigan.
The rats were scattering. And the city was finally clean.
