The red wine hit my face before my mind could register Garrett’s hand moving.

By Friday morning, the purge shifted from the courtrooms to the corporate headquarters of Montgomery Logistics.

For five years, Garrett had used his proximity to my name to plant his cronies, fraternity brothers, and incompetent sycophants into mid-level executive positions throughout my family’s company. He had created entire dummy departments—"Strategic Growth Alliances," "Venture Logistics Integration"—that produced zero revenue, held zero client meetings, and served solely as six-figure payroll conduits for his circle of parasites.

At 8:30 AM, I walked into the board room on the forty-second floor.

Waiting around the table were seven men and two women. All of them had been hired on Garrett’s direct recommendation over the last three years. They sat with expensive coffee cups, laughing nervously, trying to gauge whether the hurricane that had swallowed Garrett Vance would reach their quiet, lucrative corners.

Sitting beside me was not Marcus, but Frank Sterling—the head of Montgomery Logistics’ Internal Audit and Compliance Division, a man who had worked for my father for thirty-four years and possessed the warm, forgiving temperament of a circular saw.

I didn't sit down. I stood at the head of the table, resting my fingertips against the edge of the polished granite surface.

"Good morning," I said evenly.

The nervous murmurs died instantly. The room went silent.

"Over the past seventy-two hours," I began, my voice calm, steady, and terrifyingly clear, "our internal forensic team, working in coordination with the Southern District of New York, conducted an exhaustive audit of all departmental accounts authorized under the Strategic Integration Initiative."

Two of the men at the far end of the table—Chad Harrington and Brett Miller, Garrett’s former college roommates who had been pulling three-hundred-thousand-dollar salaries as "Vice Presidents of Brand Synergy"—shifted uncomfortably in their ergonomic leather chairs.

"What we found," I continued, nodding to Frank, "was an extraordinary pattern of ghost consulting fees, falsified vendor invoices, and unauthorized corporate expense reimbursements totaling three point four million dollars."

Frank slid thick, identical blue folders across the table to every person seated.

"If you open your folders," Frank said, his gravelly voice devoid of mercy, "you will find your immediate notices of termination for cause under Section 9 of your employment agreements."

"Wait a second, Claire!" Chad Harrington sputtered, slamming his folder shut without opening it. "You can't just fire an entire division without board approval! Garrett brought us in to build out your private equity portfolio! We have contracts! We have golden parachutes!"

"Your golden parachutes were voided twenty minutes ago when the board of directors voted unanimously to dissolve your division," I replied, looking directly into Chad’s bulging eyes. "And as for board approval... I hold fifty-two percent of the voting shares, Chad. I *am* the board."

"This is retaliation!" Brett shouted, jumping to his feet. "You’re taking your marital problems out on Garrett’s associates! We didn't throw wine in your face! We didn't touch your trust fund! You have no legal standing to terminate us without severance!"

"Mr. Miller," Frank Sterling interrupted, opening a separate red file. "On April 14th, you submitted an invoice for forty-two thousand dollars for a 'Client Summit' at the Ritz-Carlton in Miami. Our auditors reviewed the hotel’s folio yesterday. The folio shows zero business meetings. It shows forty-two thousand dollars billed for a three-day yacht rental, four magnums of Dom Pérignon, and a VIP cabana booked under the name of your personal LLC."

Brett’s face drained of color. He sat down hard, the air hissing out of his lungs.

"That constitutes federal wire fraud and embezzlement of corporate assets," I said softly. "The doors behind you are currently locked. Outside in the hallway are three officers from the NYPD Corporate Fraud Unit and two forensic specialists from our IT security team."

The room erupted into panicked shouts. One woman began hyperventilating; another man reached for his phone, only to find the corporate Wi-Fi had already severed his connection.

"Here are your options," I said, raising my hand slightly to cut through the panic. "Option A: You sign the voluntary resignation agreements inside your folders. You surrender all company devices, keycards, and access tokens immediately. You agree to make full financial restitution of all fraudulent expense reimbursements within ninety days, and in exchange, Montgomery Logistics will decline to refer your individual names to the U.S. Attorney’s office."

The room fell dead silent.

"Option B," I continued, "you walk out those doors, retain private criminal defense counsel, and let Detective Miller explain to a federal grand jury why you were cashing checks drawn from an offshore Cayman account established with stolen trust capital."

Chad stared at the folder in front of him. His hand was trembling so hard the paper rattled against the granite.

"Where... where do we sign?" he whispered, his voice broken.

"The blue signature line on page fourteen," Frank replied, sliding a box of cheap ballpoint pens into the center of the table. "You have ten minutes. Then building security will escort you to the freight elevators. Your personal belongings will be mailed to your homes in cardboard boxes."

Ten minutes later, nine signed resignation letters sat neatly stacked in front of me.

Nine former "executives" were marched down the service hallway, their heads hung in disgrace, their six-figure corporate grift terminated forever.

I stood alone in the massive boardroom, looking out through the floor-to-ceiling glass at the sun shining over the Empire State Building.

For five years, Garrett had built an entire ecosystem of thieves, parasites, and flatterers around me, convincing me that I needed them to survive. He had made me believe that without his network, without his mother’s social grace, without his associates’ "strategic vision," Montgomery Logistics would falter.

It was all an illusion. A con game played by small men with expensive watches.

I picked up my pen, signed the executive order dissolving the Strategic Integration Division forever, and tossed the document into Frank’s waiting tray.