Chapter 4 - The Cleanup Begins
When the frosted glass walls of the conference room cleared, the entire 68th floor was waiting in absolute silence.
Staff members pretended to look at their screens, but every single eye was tracking the double doors.
Alexander walked out first. His stride was no longer confident. His posture was slumped, his jaw clenched so tight the muscles in his neck stood out like wires. He didn't look at anyone. He walked straight toward his private office.
I stepped out behind him, accompanied by Arthur Vance and two uniformed corporate security officers I had brought in from the regional office.
Camila was still standing near her desk. She held a stack of paper folders, her face white, her fingers trembling. When she saw Alexander walking toward her with two security guards behind him, she rushed forward.
“Alexander!” she cried out, her voice loud and desperate. “What happened in there? What is she doing? Why are those men following you?”
Alexander stopped. He turned his head and looked at Camila.
The look he gave her wasn't filled with love, or romance, or solidarity. It was filled with pure, unadulterated hatred.
In his mind, Camila was the reason he had just lost everything. She was the one who had worn the watch to the office. She was the one who had blocked the elevator. She was the one who had drawn my attention to the corruption sitting right under his nose.
“Get away from me, Camila,” Alexander said, his voice cold and raspy.
Camila blinked, stepping back as if she had been slapped. “What? Alexander... what are you talking about? I did what you told me! I kept her away from your office! I told her she was an intern—”
“You idiot!” Alexander roared, stepping right into her face, completely losing his composure in front of the entire office. “Do you have any idea who she is?! She’s my wife! She’s the CEO!”
Camila’s hand flew to her mouth. She staggered backward, her heels catching on the edge of the carpet. She looked at me, her eyes wide with a horror so deep it seemed to paralyze her.
“Your... your wife?” she whispered.
“Pack your things,” I said, stepping forward.
My voice was quiet, but it echoed across the entire open-plan floor.
Camila turned her tear-filled eyes toward me. “Ms... Ms. Montalvo... I didn't know... I swear to God I didn't know who you were! Mr. Montalvo told me you lived in Chicago! He told me you were just an operational manager!”
“It doesn't matter who I am, Ms. Reyes,” I said, stopping a few feet from her desk. “What matters is who you are when you think no one is watching.”
I glanced at the young junior employee who was standing near the copy machine—the same girl who had been forced to take the stairs every single day.
“Effective immediately,” I announced loudly to the floor, “the policy requiring non-executive staff to use service elevators and stairs is abolished. All employees have full access to every elevator in this building.”
A sudden, collective intake of breath swept through the office. A few junior analysts at the far end of the floor exchanged wide-eyed looks.
“Furthermore,” I continued, turning back to Camila, “misconduct, harassment, and abuse of administrative authority will result in immediate termination without severance. Security officers, please escort Ms. Reyes from the building.”
One of the security officers stepped forward, taking a pair of white cotton gloves from his pocket. “Ms. Reyes, please hand over your security badge and all corporate property.”
Camila’s eyes darted frantically to Alexander. “Alexander! Help me! You gave me that watch! You signed the lease on the Brooklyn place! You can't let them do this to me!”
Alexander ignored her. He walked into his office and slammed the door behind him to pack his personal items.
The security guard held out his hand. “The badge, Ms. Reyes. And the timepiece.”
Camila’s breath hitched. She looked down at the white ceramic watch on her wrist. The watch she had worn like a trophy less than an hour ago.
“No,” she whimpered, pulling her arm back. “This was a gift! It’s personal property!”
“It was purchased using Montalvo Global corporate funds under purchase order #88902,” I replied coolly. “Which makes it company property pending forensic recovery. Take it off.”
Tears streamed down Camila’s cheeks, ruining her expensive mascara. With shaking hands, she unclasped the white ceramic bracelet and set the watch on the desk.
The security guard picked it up, placed it inside an evidence bag, and unclipped her security pass from her blouse.
“This way, Ms. Reyes,” the guard said, grabbing her arm gently but firmly.
As Camila was led toward the service elevator—the very elevator she had tried to force me into an hour earlier—the entire floor watched in absolute silence. She hung her head, weeping bitterly, her shoes clicking a slow, pathetic rhythm against the floor.
May you like
I turned to the remaining staff.
“Return to your work, everyone,” I said softly. “We have a company to run.”
