Chapter 7 - The Confrontation in the Dark
Wednesday night—twenty-four hours before the summit.
The entire executive floor was buzz with activity. Catering teams were setting up linen tables in the grand ballroom, AV technicians were testing light rigs on the main stage, and floral arrangements were being delivered by the truckload.
I was pushing my cleaning cart down the long hallway near the executive boardroom, wiping down the brass door handles.
Suddenly, a heavy hand grabbed my shoulder from behind and pulled me violently into the dark copy room.
I gasped, dropping my microfiber cloth as the door slammed shut.
The room was pitch black except for the glowing blue lights of the commercial printers.
Travis stood over me, his face inches from mine. He smelled heavily of bourbon, his hair disheveled, his tie hanging loose around his unbuttoned collar.
"Where is it?" he hissed, his grip on my upper arm tightening painfully.
"Where is what, Travis?" I kept my voice flat, refusing to let him see a single flicker of fear in my eyes. "Let go of me."
"The secondary ledger!" Travis snarled, his breath hot against my cheek. "The physical file from the safe! I went to check the binders twenty minutes ago—the 2024 offshore tax schedule is missing from binder two!"
My heart thumped, but I didn't flinch. I had taken that specific original paper schedule to Sarah’s office three hours ago to be notarized for the court filing.
"I don't know what you're talking about," I lied smoothly. "I wipe down the shelves, Travis. I don't read your corporate files."
"Don't lie to me, Eliza!" he shoved me back against the metal shelving, causing a box of toner cartridges to rattle. "You've been sneaking around this floor for weeks! Claire told me she saw you near my office on Tuesday night!"
My mind raced. Had Claire betrayed me? No—Claire knew Travis was getting paranoid and was trying to direct his suspicion toward my cleaning duties without revealing the true plot.
"I was emptying your trash, Travis!" I shouted back, stepping directly into his personal space, forcing him to take a half-step back. "Just like I empty the trash for twenty other offices every single night! You want to accuse me of something? Call the police! Call security! Let's have Marcus review the security camera footage from your office right now!"
Travis froze.
His dark eyes searched my face frantically, looking for the timid, broken woman he had kicked out of his house six months ago. But he didn't find her. He found a woman standing straight, looking at him with absolute contempt.
He knew that if security reviewed the footage, they would see him drinking in his office after hours, screaming at a cleaning worker, and violating corporate harassment policies right before his biggest investors arrived.
Slowly, his grip on my arm loosened.
"If I find out you've been talking to my investors or messing with my files, Eliza," Travis threatened, pointing a shaking finger at my face, "I'll make sure you never get custody of Owen and Maisie again. I'll hire the meanest family lawyers in Illinois and prove you're an unfit, unstable mother working a dead-end job."
Using my children as a weapon was the final mistake Travis Fenwick ever made.
A cold, terrifying calm settled deep in my chest.
"You're right, Travis," I said, my voice dropping into a quiet, deadly whisper. "You should focus on your big presentation tomorrow night. You wouldn't want anything to distract you when you take the stage."
Travis straightened his suit jacket, sneering at me one last time before turning the door handle. "Get back to work, Eliza. And clean up this room before you leave."
He walked out, slamming the heavy door behind him.
May you like
I stood alone in the dark copy room, slowly straightening my cleaning tunic. I reached into my apron pocket and touched the cold, smooth metal of the master lapel microphone receiver Claire had hidden in my cart earlier that evening.
"Enjoy your last night as CEO, Travis," I whispered to the empty room. "Tomorrow, the curtain falls."
