“If we don’t perform a bypass within twenty minutes, her aorta will fully rupture... and her emergency contact just declined our fifth priority dispatch.”

The federal marshals hauled Damian and Bianca toward the private executive elevator, their wrists bound tightly in steel handcuffs.

Damian’s polished shoes dragged against the granite floor as he desperately screamed my name across the boardroom.

“Clara! Please! For the love of God, listen to me!” Damian wailed, tears and sweat blending into an ugly smear across his face.

“We can fix this! I will sign whatever you want!”

“I will get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness every single day!”

“Do not destroy me like this!”

I did not turn around.

I sat down in the executive leather chair at the head of the table, resting my hands lightly over the legal briefs, my gaze fixed on the bright Manhattan skyline outside.

The elevator doors closed with a cold, mechanical hiss, cutting off Damian’s pathetic pleas forever.

Downstairs in the main lobby, the scene was pure, unadulterated chaos.

Over a hundred journalists, photographers, and paparazzi were packed into the plaza, their camera flashes exploding in blinding, relentless waves.

When the elevator doors opened into the lobby, the media did not see the triumphant newlyweds who had dominated yesterday’s headlines.

They saw a disgraced CEO in a torn tuxedo, weeping openly as armed federal agents dragged him through the revolving doors.

Behind him, Bianca was thrashing hysterically, her champagne wedding dress ripped along the hem, screaming obscenities at the cameras as reporters thrust microphones into her face.

“Mr. Thorne! Did you attempt to murder your wife?!”

“Bianca, are you facing life in prison for chemical poisoning?!”

“Is Thorne Media completely bankrupt?!”

The images were broadcast live across every major cable network in North America, trending at the very top of global social media within ninety seconds.

Meanwhile, across town in Southampton, three private moving trucks arrived at Evelyn Thorne’s luxury estate.

Private security contractors methodically unloaded the closets, carrying out racks of designer fur coats, antique furniture, and luxury luggage, placing them directly onto the public sidewalk outside the gates.

Evelyn arrived in a frantic taxi, screaming and sobbing as she watched her entire four-decade social existence dismantled in front of her high-society neighbors.