The Ticket Was Never for His Mistress Chapter 10

The Ticket Was Never for His Mistress Chapter 10

The Mercer Dynamics boardroom was on the forty–second floor.

I’d picked the table myself. Italian walnut. Grant had complained it was too expensive. Then he’d bragged

about it to every investor who walked in.

When I entered, seven board members stood.

Grant didn’t.

He sat at the head of the table, gray–faced, a stranger in his own skin. His eyes locked onto my stomach, then my face, and he looked like a drowning man spotting a lifeboat.

Brooke sat beside his lawyer. Pink blouse. Pearl earrings. Eyes wide and wet.

She’d dressed for sympathy.

Diane Park walked in behind me, carrying three binders.

“Let’s begin,” said Margaret Holt, the board chair. Sixty–three, silver bob, a woman who’d survived three recessions and two husbands. “Mr. Mercer. You’ve asked us to find that Ms. Quinn illegally removed proprietary technology.”

“Lumen was built in this company,” Grant’s lawyer said smoothly. “With company resources. Ms. Adler will testify that Ms. Quinn accessed confidential files before her departure.”

Brooke dabbed her eyes. “I saw her. In Grant’s office. Copying things onto a drive. I was too scared to say

anything. She’s… she’s very intimidating.”

Margaret turned to me. “Ms. Quinn?”

Diane opened the first binder.

“Lumen was patented in 2017. Six months before Mercer Dynamics was incorporated. By Ms. Quinn, as sole

inventor.” She slid the certificate across. “It’s not company property. It never was. It was licensed. And the license was terminated legally.”

Grant’s lawyer frowned. “But the files-”

“Ms. Quinn doesn’t need to copy files,” Diane said. “She wrote them.”

A board member snorted into his coffee.

Diane opened the second binder.

“Now. About Ms. Adler’s credibility.”

Brooke stiffened.

“Corporate card, Mr. Mercer’s account, past four months.” Diane began reading. “Cartier necklace, eighty thousand. Tahoe cabin rental, thirty–two thousand. First–class flights for Ms. Adler, six. Apartment rent on

Russian Hill, eleven thousand a month.”

The board went silent.

“And these,” Diane continued, pulling out another page, “are expense reports that Ms. Adler submitted herself. With Mr. Mercer’s forged digital signature.”

Grant’s head snapped toward Brooke.

“What?”

“Forty–seven thousand dollars,” Diane said. “Designer bags. Spa weekends. Labeled ‘client entertainment.‘ Mr.

Mercer never approved them. Ms. Adler used his password. He gave it to her in October so she could ‘manage

his calendar.”

Brooke’s face went white. “That’s–that’s a lie-”

“We also have,” Diane said calmly, “your text messages to a gossip reporter at the Daily Wire. Selling the clinic

photos. Fifteen thousand dollars. You negotiated up from ten.”

She slid a printout across the table.

“Make sure the headline says the baby might not be his. That’s what sells.”

Every head turned to Brooke.

Grant stared at her like he’d never seen her before.

“You told me,” he said slowly. “You told me you saw them. You cried. You said you just wanted me to know the

truth.”

Brooke’s lip trembled. “Grant, I did it for us. She was taking everything from you. I was trying to help-”

“You were trying to destroy my child’s mother.”

His voice broke on the word “child.”

Margaret Holt cleared her throat. “I think we’ve heard enough. Security, please escort Ms. Adler out. And call SFPD. Fraud and forgery.”

Brooke shot to her feet. “No! Grant! Tell them! Tell them you loved me!”

Grant didn’t look at her.

The guards took her arms. She screamed my name all the way down the hallway.

Then silence.

“The board will now vote,” Margaret said. “On a motion to remove Grant Mercer as CEO for gross misuse of company funds and breach of fiduciary duty.”

Six hands went up.

Only one stayed down. Walter’s.

Walter looked at me across the table, and his eyes were wet.

“Motion carries.”

Grant didn’t move. He sat there, staring at the table he’d bragged about. The kingdom I’d built for him.

“Additionally,” Margaret said, “Callahan Systems has submitted an acquisition offer. We’ll review it next week.”

In the hallway, Grant caught up with me. His hand closed around my wrist. Not hard. Just desperate.

“Hazel. Please. One chance. I’ll do anything. I’ll go to therapy. I’ll quit drinking. I’ll—”

I looked down at his hand.

He let go.

“You had seven years of chances, Grant.”

“I know I don’t deserve-”

“You asked me whose baby this was.” I stepped back. “You believed her over me. For three days, you believed

her. Do you know what that feels like?”

He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

“That’s the last thing you’ll ever take from me.”

I walked into the elevator.

As the doors closed, I saw him slide down the wall and put his face in his hands.

The man who was once called the quiet genius of Silicon Valley.

Crying on a hallway floor.

I didn’t feel victory.

I didn’t feel anything at all..