Chapter 11 - The Desperate Plea of a Fallen Prince
The heavy glass doors of the executive office rattled violently against their frames as Marcus barged in, looking like a ghost of the arrogant executive he used to be.
His designer suit was rumpled, his tie hung loosely around an unbuttoned collar, and his eyes were bloodshot and wild.
He didn't even notice Clara sitting in the leather armchair near the desk.
"Ethan! You have to call off the federal investigators!" Marcus screamed, stumbling forward and slamming both palms onto the mahogany surface of my desk.
"They just froze my personal accounts! They locked my Swiss holdings, my offshore trusts, even my credit cards at the country club! I can't buy a cup of coffee!"
I didn't flinch.
I didn't even blink.
I simply looked up from my tablet, my expression as cold and expressionless as a block of glacier ice.
"You're welcome to appeal to the judge, Marcus," I replied evenly.
"Though something tells me a federal magistrate won't look too kindly on four million dollars of embezzled corporate funds funneled into shell companies in the Caymans."
Marcus's face twisted into an ugly, desperate snarl of pure hatred.
"You arrogant little piece of shit! You engineered all of this! You sat back in the shadows like a parasite, plotting against your own blood!"
Clara slowly stood up from her chair, her eyes widening in disbelief as she looked at Marcus.
"Marcus? Is that you? What has happened to you?"
Hearing a voice he hadn't expected, Marcus whipped his head around.
When his gaze landed on Clara, a bitter, deranged laugh escaped his lips.
"Well, look who it is. Miss High-and-Mighty architect. Came crawling back the second little Ethan put his name on the Forbes list, did you? Don't waste your time, Clara. He doesn't have a heart anymore. He's a machine built out of spite."
"Shut your mouth, Marcus," I commanded, my voice dropping an octave, carrying a terrifying authority that silenced him instantly.
I stood up from my chair, rounding the desk and stepping directly into Marcus's personal space.
He instinctively took a step back, shrinking under the intense pressure of my gaze.
"You spent thirty-seven years believing you were invincible because Dad enabled your every toxic impulse," I whispered, my face inches from his.
"You thought you could steal, lie, and ruin people's lives without consequence. But the bill has finally arrived, Marcus. And you're going to pay every single cent of it."
"Dad won't let you do this!" Marcus shrieked, his voice cracking with rising hysteria.
"He's still your father! He built this empire!"
"No," I corrected him coldly.
"He was my father. The moment he threw me out into the snow with two hundred dollars and told me I was dead to him, he became just another corrupt executive standing in my way."
I turned toward the doorway and raised my voice slightly.
"Security."
Two private guards immediately materialized in the doorway, their massive frames blocking every exit.
"Escort Mr. Bellamy off the premises," I ordered.
"And if he attempts to set foot on this floor again, call the federal marshals to execute the arrest warrant for financial fraud."
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"You can't do this to me! I'm a Bellamy!" Marcus screamed as the guards grabbed him by the arms, dragging him backward out of the office while he kicked and thrashed like a spoiled child.
The heavy glass doors slid shut, cutting off his frantic cries.
