Nearly $2.8 million routed through shell corporations.
“Everything confirmed?” I asked.
Samuel slid a folder across the desk.
“Forensic accounting finished this morning. His signatures are on twelve authorizations. And there’s more.”
He opened another file.
Ethan had submitted a proposal for Calloway Holdings to sell him the lower commercial floors at a fraction of market value.
His presentation described ownership as “elderly, passive, and financially unsophisticated.”
I smiled.
Samuel shook his head.
“He thought the ownership group was vulnerable.”
“He thought I was vulnerable.”
Upstairs, Ethan was still celebrating.
Samuel’s phone filled with messages from catering staff.
Apparently, Ethan was joking about me.
“Your daughter married down,” one message read.
Another reported Ethan holding up the brass key and calling it “Frank’s souvenir from his janitor days.”
I looked toward the ceiling.
“Give him twenty minutes.”
Samuel hesitated.
“Sir, we can remove him now.”
“No.”
I thought about Lily whispering, Just go.
Anger would have been easier than disappointment.
But I hadn’t spent forty years building an empire by acting emotionally.
“First,” I said, “freeze every contract connected to Mercer Development.”
Samuel typed.
“Done.”
“Notify outside counsel.”
“Already waiting.”
“Terminate his office lease for fraud provisions, effective immediately after legal review.”
Samuel nodded.
“And the penthouse salon?”
I checked my watch.
“Let him finish dessert.”
Exactly twenty-two minutes after Ethan ordered security to remove me, Samuel walked into the dining room upstairs.
I watched through the security feed.
Ethan held the brass key above his wineglass.
“Maybe it opens a broom closet.”
His friends laughed.
Then Samuel entered, breathless.
“Mr. Calloway, we need the owner.”
The laughter stopped.
Ethan looked around.
“Who?”
Samuel stared directly at him.
“Not you.”
Then he turned toward the private elevator.
The doors opened.
I stepped out.
