In the early days of my business trips, I had slept in leaking basements to save company money. A storage room was a luxury suite by comparison.
I thought Summer would be satisfied now that she had stripped me of my status and family affection.
I was wrong.
I messaged Mr. Gilbert, informing him that I was severing ties with the Simmons family and that our liaison protocols might change.
Moments later, my phone rang. Jonathan, my assistant.
"Ms. Simmons, you need to get here. Something's happened at the company—"
The line went dead.
Jonathan had been by my side for a decade. He never panicked.
Adrenaline surged through me, dulling the pain in my stomach. I grabbed my coat and sprinted for a taxi.
My CEO access card was dead.
"Ms. Simmons! You're finally here!"
Employees in the main lobby spotted me and immediately cleared a path to the service elevator. The tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
The doors slid open on the top floor.
Chaos.
Half the core team was gone. Desks were being cleared. People carried boxes toward the exits with shell-shocked expressions, like refugees fleeing a war zone.
And in the center of the storm sat Summer Simmons.
She lounged in a chair, sipping coffee while an assistant fanned her. "Hurry up and get lost!" she barked. "You bunch of trash have been leeching off this company for years. Do you have any idea how much money you're wasting?"
She gestured wildly at the senior staff. "And you old fossils! You're over forty and still clinging to your chairs? This isn't a nursing home! Security, block the elevators! Make them take the stairs!"
My blood ran cold.
Walter Chavez—a man whose strategic mind had saved this company twice—was being shoved toward the stairwell. His bad leg buckled. He tumbled down the steps, a box of files crashing onto him.
"Walter!"
I rushed forward, shoving aside the debris.
"Hey!" A new security guard—one I didn't recognize—spat on the floor. "Trying to pull a scam? Don't you know who I am? I'm the captain of the security team!"
I checked Walter. Abrasions, but conscious. I stood up, fury vibrating through my chest.
"Who the hell are you? Since when do thugs run security here?"
The guard raised his baton, ready to strike, but paused when he saw my face. Recognition flickered in his eyes—not respect. Malice. He signaled his buddies. They grabbed my arms, dragging me toward Summer.