He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 20

He Bought His Mistress A Penthouse In The Building I Own Chapter 20: The Departure

“The flight plan is locked, Ms. Hale.”

“Keep the engines running, Captain,” I said.

The icy wind whipped across the private tarmac, tugging fiercely at the lapels of my trench coat. I ignored the cold. I grasped the metal handrail and mounted the airstrip staircase.

At the top of the steps, the Vanguard Real Estate corporate logo gleamed against the pristine white fuselage of the jet.

I stepped through the entryway and entered the main cabin.

“You took your time at the courthouse,” Victor Kane remarked.

He stood beside the mahogany wet bar, holding a chilled bottle of Dom Pérignon. He poured the pale, golden liquid into two crystal flutes.

“Julian wanted to put on a final show,” I replied.

“Did he cry?”

“He tore the settlement decree into pieces.”

Victor let out a short, sharp laugh. “Dramatic to the bitter end. Did it change the judge’s ruling?”

“The ink was already dry.” I unbuttoned my coat and draped it over a cream-colored leather armchair. “The county clerk filed the electronic copy ten minutes before he threw his tantrum.”

“So he is officially destitute.”

“He owes your firm twenty million dollars.”

Victor set the empty bottle down on the polished counter. “My collection agents froze his remaining personal checking account an hour ago. We recovered precisely four hundred and twelve dollars.”

“Keep it,” I told him. “Consider it a tip for playing the predatory lender so convincingly.”

“I didn’t have to act, Seraphina.” Victor picked up both crystal flutes. “Thirty percent interest is standard procedure for men who reek of desperation.”

He walked across the plush carpet and offered me a glass.

I took it from his hand. “He blamed you, of course.”

“They always blame the bank.”

“He told the lawyers I orchestrated the entire collapse.”

“You did orchestrate it,” Victor pointed out. “You funded my lending firm with Vanguard capital. You told me exactly which psychological buttons to push to make him sign that guarantee.”

“I provided the opportunity,” I corrected smoothly. “Julian picked up the pen.”

“And forged his billionaire fiancée’s signature to impress a twenty-three-year-old assistant.” Victor shook his head. “I almost pity him. He brought a knife to a nuclear war.”

“Pity is for victims,” I said. “Julian was a parasite.”

“A parasite you voluntarily funded for three years.”

“An investment in my own cover story.” I ran my thumb along the smooth crystal stem of the flute. “Being the quiet, supportive partner of a flashy architect kept the Vanguard board members off my back while I consolidated the majority stock.”

“And now you own the entire board.”

“I own the building they sit in.”

Victor swirled the champagne in his glass. “Trent called me this morning. The interim CEO is nervous.”

“Trent is always nervous.”

“He wants to know who will run the company while you are gone.”

“He will run it,” I stated. “I gave him explicit instructions. No new acquisitions, no commercial development bids, and absolute radio silence to the press.”

“The media will dig into the breakup.”

“Let them dig. They will find a bankrupt fraudster and a sealed court record.”

Victor took a sip of his drink. “Julian threatened to sell your private photos to the tabloids.”

“He lost his phone in a mud puddle outside the lobby.” I met Victor’s gaze directly. “And even if he recovers the data, no editor in Manhattan will publish a story that conflicts with Vanguard’s legal team.”

“You really did strip him down to nothing.”

“I left him with the clothes on his back.”

“A cheap polyester suit, from what my scouts at the courthouse reported.”

I thought of the greasy hair hanging in Julian’s eyes. The way his shoulders had slumped under the cheap fabric. The violent tremor in his hands when he realized the money was truly gone.

Instead of smiling at the victory, a flat, absolute silence settled in my chest.

“He begged me for a fraction of my shares,” I murmured.

“Did you consider it?” Victor asked.

“No.”

“Not even a momentary lapse of mercy?”

“He bought his mistress fake diamonds on my credit line,” I said, my voice dropping to a hard whisper. “He gave her my grandmother’s sapphire. Mercy was never an option.”

Victor raised his glass slightly. “To absolute ruin, then.”

“To clean slates,” I countered.

I turned away from him and walked past the leather seating area. I stopped right in front of the oval window.

Outside, the gray, sprawling Manhattan skyline loomed under thick storm clouds. The towering skyscrapers looked entirely muted. The city that Julian had desperately tried to conquer now looked small, distant, and insignificant.

I brought the crystal flute to my lips.

The cold liquid slipped past my teeth. Sharp champagne bubbles popped violently against my tongue.

The stinging sensation grounded me.

I tilted my chin up toward the ceiling. The tight, heavy knot that had lived at the base of my skull for three years finally unraveled. The line of my neck pulled completely taut, rigid and undeniably proud.

I survived him. I beat him. I erased him.

I lifted my arm and tapped the rim of my glass gently against the thick windowpane.

A soft, clear chime rang through the quiet cabin.

“Take a seat, Ms. Hale,” the captain’s voice crackled over the intercom speaker. “We are cleared for takeoff.”

I did not move away from the glass.

Outside, the heavy metal staircase rolled away from the fuselage.

The thick cabin door slowly swung shut. The heavy hiss of the hydraulic locks engaged, sealing the frame tight and completely cutting off the howling wind from the outside world.