Chapter 3 - Re-entering the Lion's Den
Three days later, I stood across the street from the towering glass-and-steel monolith of Mercer Development in midtown Manhattan. The massive silver logo gleamed in the midday sun—MERCER DEVELOPMENT: BUILDING TOMORROW. Below it, on the electronic lobby display, a massive promotional banner showed Daniel Mercer and Vanessa Cole smiling side by side, celebrating their upcoming wedding and the company's record-breaking third-quarter earnings.
I wore a sharp, tailored navy blue pantsuit that Clara had helped me buy using the last of her savings—a suit designed to look expensive, professional, and entirely unbothered.
I walked through the revolving glass doors, stepping into the cavernous, gleaming marble lobby where security guards stood behind a high-tech mahogany reception desk.
"Good morning. Welcome to Mercer Development. Do you have an appointment?" asked a young receptionist with crisp corporate posture and a practiced smile.
"No appointment," I said smoothly, stepping up to the desk. "Tell Daniel Mercer that Eleanor Mercer is here to see him."
The receptionist froze. Her fingers hovered over her tablet. She looked up at me, her eyes widening in sheer terror as recognition hit her. She had probably seen my face plastered across the morning news specials when the trial happened.
"M-Mrs. Mercer?" she stammered, turning pale.
"Former Mrs. Mercer," I corrected her with a serene smile. "Though legally speaking, since the separation agreement was never finalized before my wrongful imprisonment, my signature is still required on every major corporate asset transfer. But don't worry, I'm not here for a legal battle today. I'm here as a guest."
Before the receptionist could hit the panic button or call security, a familiar voice echoed across the lobby.
"Eleanor? What the hell is she doing here? Security!"
Marcus Thorne strode across the marble floor, his face red with indignation.
"You have no right to be in this building, Eleanor," Marcus snarled, stopping a few feet away. "You're an ex-convict. Get out before I have you physically removed."
May you like
I smiled, unzipping my leather portfolio and pulling out a single manila envelope. "You might want to check the contents of this folder before you call anyone, Marcus. Unless you want the SEC to audit those Cayman Island shell accounts by Monday morning."
Marcus went pale. He swallowed hard. "Bring him down to the boardroom," I commanded quietly. "Tell him his wife wants to talk."
