Chapter 15 - The Ultimatum
With the dust finally settling on the corporate wreckage of Bennett Construction, the board of Sterling-Hale Holdings officially ratified my position as Chief Executive Officer. The press release dominated the front page of *The Wall Street Journal* by Wednesday morning.
I sat in my new executive office on the sixty-fifth floor, surrounded by panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline. The mahogany desk was massive, polished to a mirror shine, completely devoid of the clutter my father used to surround himself with.
My phone buzzed sharply against the marble surface. An unknown, restricted caller ID flashed on the screen.
I swiped to answer, placing it on speaker. “This is Claire Bennett-Sterling.”
“Claire...” a weak, trembling voice whispered from the other end. It wasn't Victor. It wasn't my father. It was my mother.
I froze for a second, leaning back in my leather executive chair. “Mother. I thought you were being held in the federal correctional facility awaiting trial.”
“They... they granted me a brief medical furlough because of my blood pressure,” she sobbed softly, the sound of sterile hospital equipment beeping faintly in the background. “Claire, please... you have to help me. Your father’s lawyers abandoned him, and Victor is refusing to speak to me in holding. I have nothing left. They seized my accounts, my jewelry, my cars... even my apartment.”
I listened in silence, feeling a strange mixture of pity and absolute detachment.
“You helped build this empire of lies, Mother,” I said quietly, my voice devoid of emotion. “Every time Victor abused me, every time Dad stole from contractors or framed business rivals, you looked the other way because it bought you designer furs and country club memberships.”
“I was just a wife!” she wailed hysterically. “I had no power!”
“You had a voice,” I corrected her sharply. “And you chose to use it to silence mine. Call your defense attorney, Mother. I am not your savior.”
Before she could scream another plea, I tapped the screen and ended the call, blocking the number permanently.
The office door opened quietly, and Daniel walked in carrying two cups of artisanal coffee, his sharp eyes reading the expression on my face instantly.
“Your mother?” Daniel asked gently, setting a cup down on my desk.
“She called from the prison infirmary,” I said, taking a sip of the warm coffee. “Asking for a lifeline.”
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Daniel walked around the desk, placing his hands on my shoulders and massaging the tension from my neck. “And what did you tell her?”
“I told her the truth,” I whispered, leaning back against him. “We reap what we sow.”
