Chapter 227 - 226 The House Of Cards 2

EMILY

The executive office at Sterling Pharmaceuticals is completely silent.

I sit in a high-backed leather chair, watching the muted television mounted on the far wall. The news anchor speaks urgently behind a scrolling red ticker tape. The screen cuts to live footage of Julian Thorne. Two federal agents march him out of the convention center in handcuffs. His head hangs low, his tailored navy suit wrinkled and disheveled. The stock market graphic in the corner of the screen shows Thorne Pharmaceuticals trading at zero point two cents a share.

Victor Sterling sits on the sofa opposite my desk. He rests his polished leather shoe on his opposite knee, taking a slow sip from a small porcelain cup of espresso. The rich aroma of roasted coffee fills the pristine, air-conditioned room.

"The medical board executed the thermal stress test flawlessly," Victor notes, setting his cup down on the glass table. "Julian essentially handed the federal prosecutors a signed confession on live television."

"He built his entire life on the assumption that other people would carry his weight," I reply, my voice perfectly steady. I reach out and trace the rim of my water glass. "He finally tried to carry it himself, and it crushed him."

The sleek black telephone on my desk emits a soft, melodic chime. I press the speaker button.

"Mrs. Wolfe," the receptionist says, her tone hesitant and strained. "I apologize for the interruption, but there are two individuals in the main lobby causing a significant disturbance. A Mr. and Mrs. Vance. They are demanding to see you immediately. Security is prepared to escort them out."

I pull my hand away from the water glass. A cold, absolute calm settles over my entire body. I look at Victor. He raises a single eyebrow, offering a silent question. I nod once.

"Send them up to my office," I instruct the receptionist. "Have two security guards accompany them."

"Right away, ma’am."

Victor stands up, smoothing the front of his charcoal pinstripe suit. "I will leave you to handle your family matters, Emily. Let me know if you require any legal assistance disposing of the rubbish."

"I have it covered, Victor. Thank you."

He exits through the private side door just as the heavy oak double doors at the front of the office swing open.

Thomas and Lydia Vance stumble into the room. They look entirely broken.

Thomas wears a rumpled gray suit. His tie is pulled loose, hanging crookedly around his neck. His face is flushed bright red, slick with nervous sweat. Lydia clutches a cheap leather purse to her chest. Her hair is unkempt, her makeup smudged beneath her eyes. They look nothing like the arrogant, demanding people who once ruled my life.

Two massive security guards step into the room behind them, crossing their arms and blocking the exit.

I do not stand up. I remain seated behind the large mahogany desk, resting my forearms on the polished wood. I look at the two people who raised me in a house devoid of any warmth or affection.

"Emily," Thomas gasps, taking a frantic step toward the desk before a security guard puts a heavy hand on his shoulder, stopping him dead. "Emily, please. You have to help us."

"Why are you here, Thomas?" I ask. My tone is completely devoid of emotion.

Lydia pushes past him, tears streaming down her face. She attempts to manufacture a look of maternal desperation, her bottom lip trembling violently. "Julian is ruined, Emily. Chloe is expelled. We invested every single dollar we had into Thorne Pharmaceuticals to secure Chloe’s future. The bank is foreclosing on our house tomorrow morning. We have absolutely nothing left."

"That sounds like a personal financial miscalculation," I state, leaning back in my leather chair. "I fail to see how your bankruptcy concerns me."

"You are my daughter!" Thomas shouts, his voice cracking with desperation. He strains against the security guard’s grip. "You are married to Alistair Wolfe! You possess the entire patent for SN1818! You have millions of dollars sitting in your accounts. You have to write us a check. You have to save your family!"

I look at his sweaty, red face. I think about the dark, mildew-ridden storage room they locked me in. I think about the three days I spent trapped in the cold, starving and terrified, begging for a single drop of water. I think about the day they tried to sell me to Silas Hunt like a piece of cheap property to cover their own debts.

"You are not my family," I say quietly. The words drop into the room like heavy stones.

Thomas stops struggling. He stares at me, his mouth opening and closing like a suffocating fish.

"You locked a pregnant woman in a freezing storage room without food or water," I continue, my voice rising in volume, cutting through the silence of the office like a blade. "You let Silas Hunt drag me into a hotel room. You stripped away every single piece of dignity I had, and you handed your affection to a girl who just tried to poison thousands of people for a paycheck."

Lydia drops to her knees on the thick carpet. She clasps her hands together, openly weeping now. "We were wrong, Emily. We made a mistake. Please. Have mercy on us."

I stand up. I smooth the front of my tailored gray skirt. I look down at them, feeling absolutely nothing. No anger. No sorrow. Only the vast, empty space where my fear used to live.

"I am the Matriarch of the Wolfe Empire," I tell them, my voice ringing with absolute, unbreakable authority. "My family consists of my husband and my child. I have no father. I have no stepmother. Do not ever attempt to contact me again. If you step foot near this building, or near the Wolfe estate, I will have you arrested for trespassing."

I look up at the two security guards standing by the door.

"Remove them from the premises," I instruct. "If they resist, call the Etland City Police."

The guards step forward, grabbing Thomas and Lydia by their arms. Thomas begins to shout, thrashing wildly, but the guards drag him backward effortlessly. Lydia sobs, dragging her knees across the carpet as they haul her toward the exit.

"Emily!" Thomas screams, his voice echoing in the hallway as the guards force him out. "You cannot do this! Emily!"

The heavy oak doors slam shut, cutting off his frantic screams.

The office returns to perfect, pristine silence.

I take a slow, deep breath, letting the cool, conditioned air fill my lungs. The invisible chains that bound me to the Vance family shatter completely. I am entirely free.

The private side door clicks open. Alistair steps into the office. He wears a sharp black suit, his tie perfectly knotted. The rich, clean scent of cedarwood enters the room with him, immediately washing away the lingering stench of my past.

He walks around the mahogany desk. He does not ask what happened. He simply reaches out and pulls me into his arms. I rest my cheek against the solid muscle of his chest, listening to the steady, calming rhythm of his heartbeat.

"It is done," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his waist.

Alistair rests his chin on the top of my head. He holds me securely, a massive, impenetrable shield against the rest of the world.

"The past is buried, Emily," he murmurs, his lips pressing a soft kiss against my hair. "From this moment forward, we only look at the future."