Chapter 4 - THE TWELVE PHONES AND THE DIGITAL EXECUTION: ETHAN’S MASTERCLASS IN REVENGE
“Hold on, hold on, let me get a better angle,” a calm, steady voice echoed from the doorway.
All heads turned.
Ethan strolled into the executive lounge carrying his ruggedized military tablet under one arm, tapping away at the screen with absolute nonchalance, as if he were walking through a grocery store aisle rather than the execution chamber of a corporate titan’s career.
He paused right beside the junior product manager who had recorded the slap.
“Oh, nice capture, Sarah,” Ethan said, glancing at her trembling phone screen. “High-definition, 4K resolution, excellent lighting under the chandelier. You got the sound of the impact too, right?”
Sarah swallowed hard, her eyes wide with terror, clutching her phone against her chest as if it were a live grenade. “I—I... I didn't mean to—!”
“Don't worry about it,” Ethan smiled warmly, pulling a small flash drive from his pocket and plugging it into the base of his tablet. “In fact, my script just automatically scraped every single video of the incident recorded in this room over the past five minutes, synchronized the audio channels, backed them up to three independent cloud servers outside corporate jurisdiction, and automatically forwarded copies to Halcyon’s HR compliance board, the Wall Street Journal’s investigative desk, and the Department of Justice’s public corruption portal.”
Richard let out a muffled, strangled scream from where he was pinned against the wet bar.
“You... you did what?!” Richard choked out, his voice muffled by the granite countertop.
“Just modernizing your communication strategy, brother-in-law,” Ethan replied cheerfully, tapping the screen again. “You always said you wanted your name plastered all over the financial news headlines before the end of the quarter. Well, congratulations. You’re currently trending number one on Twitter under the hashtag #HalcyonSlap.”
Daniel Cross whimpered from his spot on the floor, still clutching his head. “We’re ruined. We’re completely, utterly ruined.”
“Oh, your career was over the moment you signed those fraudulent logistics manifests, Daniel,” David Vance corrected him calmly, snapping his briefcase shut. “The slap was just the cherry on top. It gave federal prosecutors the probable cause they needed to bypass internal arbitration clauses and seize all personal and corporate assets immediately.”
I walked over to the bar, picked up a fresh crystal glass, poured two fingers of unspilled single-malt scotch, and took a slow, calm sip, letting the amber liquid burn away the lingering taste of blood on my lip.
I looked down at Richard, who was now weeping openly into the sticky surface of the spilled high-ball drinks on the granite counter.
“Remember what you told me just ten minutes ago, Richard?” I asked softly, leaning in close so only he could hear.
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Richard didn't answer, his shoulders shaking with wretched, pathetic sobs.
“You told me to know my place,” I continued, my voice cold and steady. “Well, I found it. It’s right here, standing over the ruins of your entire life, holding the gavel that just sentenced you to federal prison.”
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