Chapter 11 - The Top Floor
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Ivan felt the ground beneath his feet tilt violently.
Every memory of his life rushed through his mind in a dizzying blur. The modest suburban house. The quiet woman who cooked his dinners, who stayed up late to help him study, who gently encouraged him when his first business ideas failed.
He had believed he was a prodigy who had escaped a mediocre life.
In reality, he was a spoiled child playing in a sandbox built and paid for by a shadow titan.
“She... she wants to see me?” Ivan stammered, his voice shaking uncontrollably.
“She is waiting for you in the executive penthouse board room on the 50th floor,” Samuel stated, gesturing toward the private express elevator. “You have five minutes before the federal auditors take full control of the floor.”
Brenda grabbed Ivan’s arm, her hands trembling violently. “Ivan! Go up there! Fix this! Tell her you’re sorry! Tell her it was all a big misunderstanding!”
Ivan pulled his arm away from Brenda, feeling a sudden wave of disgust at her sudden desperation. Just hours ago, she had mocked my blue dress and demanded he throw me out. Now, she was begging him to crawl back to the woman she had despised.
Ivan stepped into the express elevator alone. Samuel Brooks tapped his keycard against the reader, and the doors slid shut.
The elevator shot upward, the floors counting down his impending doom: 10... 20... 30... 40...
Ivan smoothed down his wrinkled tuxedo shirt with sweaty palms, rehearsing a dozen different apologies in his head.
“Mom, I was stressed... Brenda pressured me... I didn't mean what I said... You know I love you...”
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the 50th floor.
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The doors opened to reveal a massive, state-of-the-art boardroom framed by floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooking the entire San Francisco bay.
And sitting at the head of the massive mahogany conference table, wrapped in a tailored dark navy suit, was Clara Whitmore.
