The door opened. My brother Julian strode in, all six-foot-three of him radiating barely contained glee.
“Please tell me I can be there when his face melts off,” he said.
“You have your own company to run.”
“Iris. Sister. Light of my life.” He dropped into the chair beside me. “I have waited three years to watch that man crash and burn. You’re not taking this from me.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Fine. But you’re buying dinner.”
“Deal.” He glanced at the screens. “So what’s the plan? Complete annihilation, or do we leave him enough dignity to crawl?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether he begs.”
Julian’s grin turned feral. “God, I’ve missed you.”
My phone buzzed. A text from Mia.
Harrison says you were bluffing. We both know you’re nobody. Stop embarrassing yourself and bring back the house keys.
I showed Julian the screen.
He laughed so hard he nearly fell out of his chair. “Should I respond?” I asked.
“Oh, absolutely.” He wiped his eyes. “Tell her to check the news in about… thirty-six minutes.”
I typed back a single emoji.
Then I settled in to watch the show.
The first notification came at exactly 2:47 p.m.
BREAKING: Oasis Group stock plummets 30% amid mysterious investor withdrawal.
My phone exploded.
Seventeen missed calls from Harrison.
Twenty-three texts from Mia.
Four voicemails from my former mother-in-law, each one more hysterical than the last.
Harrison’s name lit up my screen again.
I let it ring.
Then again.
And again.
By the time the fifth call came through, Oasis Group’s stock had fallen another twelve percent.
Julian whistled low. “He’s spiraling faster than I expected.”
“He always did crack under pressure,” I said.
Nina’s fingers flew across her tablet. “It’s worse than that. The emergency filing triggered a review of the company’s debt structure. Several lenders are flagging covenant violations.”
Richard’s face remained composed on the video screen, but there was satisfaction in his eyes. “That’s because Harrison never understood how Oasis was financed.”
Julian leaned back in his chair. “Meaning?”
“Meaning,” I said, watching the red numbers slide down the screen, “that Harrison thought he owned a kingdom when he was really sitting on a pile of borrowed gold.”
For three years, he’d strutted through that company like a conqueror. He loved corner offices, tailored suits, magazine covers, and the sound of people calling him visionary. He loved signing documents he didn’t understand and taking credit for deals he couldn’t have negotiated in a thousand lifetimes.
He loved power.
He just never realized it had all been mine.