Chapter 3: The Begging
They didn't even make it past the lobby of Escalante Tower.
I watched them on the security feed for ten minutes before I finally allowed the guards to send them up to the penthouse office. When the elevator doors slid open, they looked like absolute ghosts.
Andrew’s tie was loosened, his hair frantic. Margaret looked like she had aged a decade, clutching a single, pathetic designer tote. Brenda was lingering near the back, her eyes darting around the billion-dollar view, already recalculating her survival strategy.
I was seated behind a desk carved from a single slab of black marble. I didn't stand. I didn't smile. I just waited.
"Mariana..." Andrew choked out, taking a step forward. The rage from the night before was entirely gone, replaced by a suffocating, pathetic desperation. "Mariana, what is this? Please, tell me this is a joke."
"Do I look like I'm joking, Andrew?" I asked, my voice chillingly flat.
"You... you own my company?" he stammered. "You own the house? How?"
"Because you are a terrible businessman," I stated simply. "You bankrupt everything you touch. I spent four years secretly buying your debt to keep you from going to prison for corporate fraud. I built the empire you paraded around in. And last night, when you told me to crawl out of your house... I decided to stop paying your bills."
Margaret pushed past him, tears streaming down her perfectly powdered face. "Mariana, darling, please! We're family! You can't leave me on the street! I didn't mean those things I said!"
I leaned forward, steepling my fingers. "What was it you told me last night, Margaret? 'You can drape a nobody in couture, but the cheapness always bleeds through.' It turns out, you were talking about yourself."
I shifted my gaze to Andrew. "You wanted me on my knees. You wanted an apology. Well, here we are."
Andrew swallowed hard, his pride shattering into a million pieces. Slowly, painfully, he dropped to his knees on the plush carpet. Margaret, sobbing, followed him.
"I'm sorry," Andrew whispered, tears spilling over his cheeks. "I'm so sorry. Please, Mariana. Just give me my life back."
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I looked down at them, feeling absolutely nothing. No pity. No triumph. Just the quiet satisfaction of taking out the trash.
"Security," I called out, pressing a button on my desk. "Escort these trespassers out of my building. If they return, have them arrested."
