Chapter 2 - The Sixty-Eighth Floor
The air on the 68th floor felt different than the rest of the building. It was thick with expensive cologne, leather furniture, and the suffocating silence of an office where everyone walked on eggshells.
Camila didn't take her eyes off me. She stood behind her marble desk, smoothing her pencil skirt, acting as the undisputed gatekeeper of Montalvo Global.
“I told you to wait in the lower lobby,” she said loudly, making sure the three paralegals at the adjacent desks could hear every word. “You’re trespassing on a private executive floor.”
I didn't answer her. I walked past her desk toward the double mahogany doors that led to the Chairman’s corner suite.
“Hey!” Camila’s heels clicked sharply against the travertine floor as she bolted after me. She grabbed my arm, her long acrylic nails digging into the sleeve of my cardigan. “Are you deaf? Mr. Montalvo is preparing for the quarterly board address. If you step one foot inside that office, I will have corporate security remove you in handcuffs.”
I stopped. I slowly turned my head and looked down at her hand on my arm.
“Remove your hand,” I said. My voice wasn't loud, but it had the cold, calcified weight of six years spent managing steel mill foremen and union representatives.
Camila hesitated. For a fraction of a second, something in my posture made her step back. But she quickly recovered, sneering as she pulled her hand away. “You’re crazy. You’re actually insane. Who do you think you are?”
Before I could answer, the heavy mahogany door swung open.
Alexander stood in the doorway. He was wearing his bespoke navy suit, his dark hair slicked back, looking every bit the ruthless Manhattan billionaire the financial press loved to profile. He was holding a leather folder, his eyes glued to his tablet.
“Camila,” Alexander said without looking up, “where are those updated EBITDA projections? The board is logging into the secure portal in ten minutes and—”
He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes drifted up from his tablet.
His eyes met mine.
The color drained from Alexander’s face so fast it was almost comical. The tablet in his right hand trembled slightly.
“Victoria?” he whispered.
“Good morning, Alexander,” I said smoothly.
Camila looked between us, her confident smile flickering. “Mr. Montalvo, do you know this girl? She’s been harassing the staff downstairs, forcing her way onto the executive elevator, and refusing to present her security credentials.”
Alexander didn't hear a word she said. He stared at me like a man who had just opened his front door to find a ghost standing on his porch.
“Victoria,” he repeated, his voice cracking slightly. “What... what are you doing here? You were supposed to be in Chicago until Thursday.”
“The logistics restructuring wrapped up early,” I said, taking a step toward him. “And the board asked me to attend today’s strategy meeting in person. Surely you received the updated agenda?”
Alexander swallowed hard. He cast a quick, nervous glance at Camila’s wrist.
The white ceramic watch was sitting right there, gleaming under the recessed lighting. I saw his eyes lock onto it. I saw his pulse jump in his throat.
Camila, completely oblivious to the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure, stepped between us. “Mr. Montalvo, should I call security? She’s claiming she has a meeting with the board. I can have her escorted off the property immediately.”
“Camila, shut up,” Alexander snapped.
Camila froze. Her mouth stayed half-open. She looked at Alexander as if he had just spoken to her in a foreign language. “What?”
“I said shut up,” Alexander said, his tone laced with a manic edge. He stepped out of his office, his eyes fixed entirely on me. “Victoria, let’s go inside my office. Now. We can talk about this privately.”
“There’s nothing to talk about privately,” I replied coolly. “The board meeting starts in eight minutes. In the main conference room.”
“Victoria, please,” he lowered his voice, taking a step closer, trying to use the warm, affectionate tone he usually reserved for convincing me to sign joint tax returns. “You’ve had a long flight. You’re stressed. Let me handle the board today. We can go home, have dinner, and talk about... everything.”
“Home?” I echoed, letting out a soft laugh that carried across the quiet floor. “Which home, Alexander? The penthouse on the Upper East Side? Or the brownstone in Brooklyn where you’ve been spending your Tuesday nights?”
Camila’s head snapped toward me. The paralegals at the nearby desks stopped typing. The entire 68th floor fell into a dead, absolute silence.
Alexander’s face turned from pale to an ugly, mottled red. “Victoria, that’s enough!”
“I agree,” I said, reaching into my handbag. I pulled out a sleek, black leather binder and held it out to him. “It is enough.”
“What is this?” he asked, refusing to take it.
“That is the certified copy of the Board of Directors' resolution passed unanimously at 8:00 AM this morning,” I said.
I turned my head and looked directly at Camila. The arrogance on her face had completely evaporated, replaced by a creeping, suffocating dread.
“Read page three, Alexander,” I continued, my voice echoing off the glass walls. “It details the restructuring of executive power. You retain the title of Chairman of the Board. But effective 9:00 AM today, I have been named Chief Executive Officer and Managing Director.”
Camila gasped, stumbling back against her desk. “CEO? You... you’re the new CEO?”
I didn't even look at her. I kept my eyes locked on my husband.
“And as my first official act as CEO,” I said calmly, “I am initiating an immediate forensic audit of all executive expense accounts, corporate gifts, and secondary property leases authorized by the Chairman’s office over the last twenty-four months.”
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Alexander stared at me, his mouth opening and closing silently.
“Starting,” I added, glancing down at Camila’s left arm, “with that watch.”
