Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm in the Boardroom**
Within twenty-four hours of my shocking resurrection at my own funeral, the digital media landscape had completely imploded. Headlines across The Wall Street Journal, CNN, and every major tabloid screamed the same explosive story:
*“GREEDY CEO ATTEMPTS TO MURDER PREGNANT WIFE FOR $50M INSURANCE PAYOUT—ONLY TO HAVE HER RETURN FROM THE DEAD!”*
Brandon Prescott’s corporate empire—Prescott Technologies—was facing an immediate, catastrophic freefall. Institutional investors were frantically pulling their capital, the board of directors had called an emergency emergency session to strip him of his CEO title, and federal investigators from the FBI’s financial crimes division had already frozen all of his personal and corporate accounts under suspicion of attempted murder, conspiracy, and insurance fraud.
Inside the ultra-modern, glass-walled conference room on the fortieth floor of Lancaster Global towers downtown, the atmosphere was thick with clinical precision.
I sat at the head of the polished quartz table, wearing a crisp white blazer and designer silk slacks, reviewing the forensic asset audit reports compiled by my legal team. Beside me sat Gabriel Lancaster, the billionaire tech magnate and venture capitalist who had quietly stepped in to fund my corporate restructuring strategy, and Liam Vance, who had traded his alpine rescue gear for a federal investigator’s badge.
The heavy glass doors of the boardroom swung open violently.
Brandon burst into the room, looking utterly unhinged. His expensive suit was wrinkled, his tie was ripped half-loose, and his hair was standing on end. Two building security guards trailed behind him, breathing heavily.
“Khloe! You can't do this! You’re destroying everything I’ve built!” Brandon screamed, slamming both palms down onto the conference table so hard the water carafes bounced. He pointed a shaking, accusing finger at me. “This is a witch hunt! You staged this entire thing to ruin me! You and your little rescue-boy toy conspired to frame me!”
I didn't even look up from my tablet immediately. I calmly swiped to the next page of the forensic audit, took a slow sip of my artisanal coffee, and finally raised my eyes to meet his bloodshot, panicked gaze.
“Good morning, Brandon,” I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion, dripping with glacial calm. “Though I suggest you check your tone. You’re currently standing in a private boardroom owned by Lancaster Global—the primary institutional creditor that just acquired seventy-two percent of Prescott Technologies' distressed debt portfolio.”
Brandon staggered backward as if he had been physically struck across the face. His mouth opened and closed like a fish stranded on a dock.
“You... you bought my debt?” he whispered, horror dawning in his bloodshot eyes. “That’s impossible! Our offshore holdings were buried under three different shell companies in the Caymans! Nobody outside my inner circle had the routing keys!”
“Nobody except the woman who incorporated them for you during our first three years of marriage,” a calm, icy voice echoed from the doorway.
Gretchen stumbled into the room behind him, looking like a ghost. Her designer makeup was smeared, her hair was unbrushed, and she looked ready to vomit. She wasn't there to defend Brandon; she was there to save her own skin.
“He did it!” Gretchen shrieked, pointing directly at Brandon before he could lunge at her. “It was all Brandon’s idea! He’s the one who took out the policy! He’s the one who shoved her off the cliff! I tried to tell him not to do it, but he forced me to stay quiet!”
Brandon whipped around, his face contorted into pure, rabid fury. “You lying little bitch! You helped me plan the route! You encouraged me to—!” He caught himself mid-sentence, snapping his jaw shut as he realized the audio-recording device sitting centrally on the conference table had just captured his entire confession in crystal-clear digital surround sound.
Liam Vance leaned back in his chair, tapping the recording button on the small black device with a satisfied grin.
“Thanks for the verbal confirmation, Mr. Prescott,” Liam said smoothly. “Federal wire fraud and attempted murder charges sound much better when the suspect confesses on tape in front of two witnesses and a federal officer.”
May you like
Brandon stood frozen, the color draining entirely from his face as the crushing weight of his inevitable prison sentence finally settled over him.
---
