Chapter 13 - The Parking Garage
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Friday morning. The day of the final takeover.
I pulled my Porsche into the VIP underground parking garage beneath my building. The concrete space was dimly lit, echoing with the sound of my engine as I slid into my reserved spot.
I grabbed my briefcase, locked the car, and began walking toward the private elevator bay.
“Claire.”
The voice echoed sharply off the concrete pillars, sending a jolt of adrenaline straight into my veins. I stopped, gripping the handle of my briefcase tightly.
Ethan stepped out from behind a concrete support column, blocking my path to the elevator.
He looked completely unhinged. He hadn't shaved in days, his eyes were bloodshot, and he smelled faintly of stale alcohol. He looked like a dangerous, desperate animal cornered in a trap.
“Ethan,” I said, keeping my voice steady, calculating the distance between us and the nearest emergency call box. “You’re trespassing. You need to leave before I call security.”
“I don't care about security!” he shouted, his voice cracking violently. He took a step toward me, throwing his hands in the air. “You took everything! The company, the house, the cars. My father had a heart attack last night, Claire! He’s in the ICU, and we can't even afford a private room because you froze our accounts!”
I felt a brief, fleeting sting of pity, but I brutally shoved it down.
“I didn't give your father a heart attack, Ethan,” I said coldly. “His own guilt and greed did that. Now move out of my way.”
“No!” Ethan snarled, stepping closer, his physical aggression finally breaking through the polished facade he had maintained for three years. He reached out and grabbed my shoulders, shaking me hard. “You’re going to sign the release papers! You’re going to give it back!”
“Take your hands off her.”
The voice was terrifyingly calm, but it echoed through the garage with the lethal force of a gunshot.
Ethan froze, turning his head.
Julian Vance stepped out of the shadows near the elevator bank. He had clearly been waiting for me to arrive. He wasn't wearing a suit jacket, his tie was discarded, and the sleeves of his dress shirt were rolled up, exposing the thick muscle of his forearms.
He didn't look like a CEO. He looked like a man ready to commit murder.
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“Julian,” Ethan stammered, loosening his grip on my shoulders. “This is between me and my fiancée—”
Julian moved faster than I thought a man his size could. In three massive strides, he crossed the concrete floor. He didn't yell. He didn't argue. He grabbed Ethan by the throat, slamming him violently backward against the concrete pillar.
