Chapter 5 - THE EXILE OF THE MOTHER-IN-LAW
Back at the penthouse, the news of Ryan’s arrest and corporate destruction was already spreading across the financial news tickers scrolling at the bottom of the wall-mounted television screens.
The headline blared in bold red letters: ‘TECH TYCOON RYAN MERCER ARRESTED IN FEDERAL FRAUD AND EMBEZZLEMENT RAID; ASSETS SEIZED BY CARTER GLOBAL HOLDINGS.’
My father sat in an armchair across from the sofa, watching the broadcast with a cup of black coffee in his hand, a small, satisfied smirk playing across his lips as the news anchor struggled to pronounce the details of the sudden, overnight corporate hostile takeover.
“They’re already interviewing his former investors outside the stock exchange,” my father remarked, taking a slow sip of his coffee.
“Most of them are threatening civil lawsuits to recover whatever pennies are left of their portfolios.”
“Good,” I said calmly, resting a hand gently against my swollen belly as our son gave another reassuring kick.
“Let them tear him apart legally. He deserves every single lawsuit coming his way.”
Just then, the private elevator chime echoed through the penthouse foyer once again—only this time, it wasn't corporate lawyers or medical staff arriving.
The security monitor near the front entrance flickered to life, displaying a frantic, disheveled figure pacing back and forth in front of the elevator doors.
It was Eleanor Mercer—Ryan’s mother, the woman who had spent three years looking down her nose at me, calling me a gold digger, a peasant, and an uncultured burden upon her son’s illustrious lineage.
Her hair was messy, her designer coat was half-buttoned, and her face was twisted into a mask of hysterical panic as she pounded repeatedly against the brushed-steel doors with her fists.
“Open this door!” Eleanor shrieked into the intercom camera, her voice cracking with fury and terror.
“Emma! I know you’re in there, you ungrateful little gold-digging whore! What have you and your sketchy family done to my son? You’ve ruined him! You’ve stolen everything he built!”
My father set his coffee cup down on the glass table with a sharp click, his eyes narrowing into dangerous, glacial slits as he stood up from his chair.
“Shall I have security escort her out of the building, sweetheart?” my father asked coldly, his hand reaching for the intercom console.
“No, Dad,” I said, gently shaking my head as I pushed myself up from the sofa, smoothing out my loungewear with deliberate grace.
“Let her in.”
My father paused, looking down at me with a questioning glance.
“Are you sure about this, Emma? You shouldn't subject yourself to her toxic garbage in your condition.”
“I’m perfectly fine, Dad,” I replied, walking slowly toward the foyer with my head held high, the bruises on my cheek fading under the cool touch of the medical compress, but my resolve stronger than forged steel.
“For three years, I sat across dining tables from her while she insulted my intelligence, my background, and my character.”
“It’s only fair that she finally gets to meet the real me before she goes off to figure out how she’s going to pay her country club dues without her son’s stolen millions.”
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My father let out a low, approving rumble, gesturing to the two bodyguards to stand back while he pressed the master override button on the wall panel.
The private elevator doors slid open with a soft hum.
