Chapter 4 - The Clean Sweep
By Sunday evening, the financial news networks had picked up the story.
“Vance Biomedical Shares Plunge 82% Following Sudden Withdrawal of Mysterious Private Equity Rescue Package; Federal Investigators Confirm Preliminary Probe into Executive Embezzlement.”
Sitting in the penthouse office of Thorne Bio’s Manhattan headquarters high above Central Park, I watched the live helicopter footage broadcast on Bloomberg. The camera panned over the iconic iron gates of the Newport mansion, where unmarked federal vehicles and moving trucks were already lined up along the circular driveway.
My phone buzzed against the glass desk.
It was an unknown number with a Newport area code. I let it ring. It went to voicemail, then buzzed again immediately.
I swiped to answer.
“Kira?”
Ethan’s voice sounded hollow, broken, and utterly defeated. He didn't sound like the golden boy of Newport anymore; he sounded like a man who had just discovered he was standing on a sheet of thin spring ice that had finally cracked.
“Ethan,” I said evenly.
“Please,” he sobbed softly on the other end of the line. “My dad had a mild stroke an hour ago. The lawyers are talking about asset seizure. The house is gone. Everything is gone. My mother is crying in her bedroom, and the bank accounts are frozen. Please... can’t you restructure the debt? You have the power to save us.”
I leaned back in my ergonomic leather chair, gazing out at the glittering skyline of a city I had conquered entirely on my own terms.
“I do have the power,” I agreed.
A tiny flicker of desperate hope sparked in his voice. “You’ll do it? For old time's sake? For us?”
“No,” I said, my voice as steady as granite. “The Thorne Bio rescue package was designed to save a viable company managed by competent leadership. Vance Biomedical is a corrupt, rotting relic run by a bigoted dinosaur, and it deserves to be liquidated down to the last paperclip.”
“Kira, wait—!”
“Lose my number, Ethan,” I said, and ended the call.
I tapped the screen once more, blocking his contact permanently, sliding the phone face down onto the mahogany surface.
There was a soft knock at my office door. Marcus poked his head in, holding a fresh tablet displaying our quarterly growth projections.
“Dr. Thorne,” Marcus said with a respectful nod. “The board meeting is in ten minutes. Are you ready to review the acquisition targets for the new pharmaceutical division?”
May you like
I stood up, adjusting the cuffs of my blazer, and smiled.
“Let’s go, Marcus,” I said, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows where the morning sun was burning away the last remnants of the fog. “We have an empire to build.”
