"Well, well," David breathed, a wet, oily grin spreading across his face as he turned to Maya. "Look at you. Little Maya, sitting in the high tower. I read about you in the Wall Street Journal. 'The Maid Who Conquered Vance Global.' Brought a tear to your old man's eye, it did."
Maya did not stand up. She did not offer him a seat. She sat motionless, her hands folded neatly over her leather-bound ledger, her eyes cold as arctic ice.
"What do you want, David?" she asked quietly.
David’s grin flickered, a flash of annoyance crossing his eyes before he smoothed it over with practiced, theatrical sorrow. "David? Is that how you address your own father? After all the sacrifices I made—"
"You stole four thousand dollars from my mother's chemotherapy fund and vanished on a Tuesday," Maya cut in, her voice razor-sharp, completely devoid of heat or anger, which made it all the more devastating. "You have no rights here. State your business and leave."
David’s posture shifted. The sorrowful father persona evaporated, replaced by the ugly, rat-like cunning that had characterized his entire life. He stepped forward, leaning his palms on the edge of her pristine desk.
"My business is family, Maya," he sneered, lowering his voice. "You're a rising star now. The golden child of corporate ethics. But image is everything in this town, isn't it? What happens to your shiny reputation when I go to the Daily News or the tabloids with a very different story? How about: 'The Cold-Hearted Executive Who Let Her Aged Father Rot in Poverty While She Drank Champagne'? How about stories about your mother's real history—the debts, the illegal unregistered work?"
He leaned closer, his breath sour. "I want two million dollars, Maya. Outright. Liquid. And a vice president title in procurement at Vance Global with a guaranteed salary. You give me that, and I stay dead. You refuse... and I destroy this carefully constructed little fairytale of yours before the board ratifies your promotion."
Before Maya could respond, the heavy mahogany double doors of her office swept open with thunderous authority.
Eleanor Vance walked into the room, leaning lightly on her polished ebony cane. Behind her walked Mr. Vance’s personal chief legal counsel, Arthur Vance-Sterling, carrying a thick, black leather briefcase.
"You won't be receiving a dime, Mr. Lin," Eleanor announced, her voice ringing like a bronze bell across the room. "Nor will you be leaking a single word to any news outlet on this continent."
David spun around, startled. "Who the hell are you? This is a private family matter—"
"I am Eleanor Vance," the old woman said, stepping into the center of the room like a sovereign queen inspecting a trespassing beggar. "And nothing that touches this company or this woman is private from me."
Arthur Sterling placed his briefcase on a side table with a crisp click, pulling out a thick sheaf of legal documents bound in blue ribbon.
"Mr. David Lin," Sterling spoke with dry, terrifying legal precision. "I suggest you look over these documents before you speak another word. What you hold in your hands is a comprehensive dossier compiled over the last seventy-two hours by Vance Global Security."
David paled slightly as Sterling handed him a copy.
"Within these pages," Sterling continued, "are itemized records of your extensive gambling debts across four jurisdictions, three pending federal tax evasion warrants in Nevada, and conclusive evidence of wire fraud committed under two false identities in 2021. Furthermore, we have sworn affidavits from your former associates detailing your explicit abandonment of your dependents."
Eleanor took two deliberate steps toward David, her cane striking the floor with absolute finality.
"If you so much as stand within one hundred yards of this building again," Eleanor said, her dark eyes flashing with pure, lethal power, "or if a single derogatory word regarding Maya Lin appears in any print, digital, or audio medium anywhere on earth, Mr. Sterling will personally hand these files to the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York. You will be in federal custody before nightfall."
David’s hands trembled as he looked from the legal documents to Eleanor’s unforgiving face, and finally to Maya, who sat behind her desk, watching him not with hatred, but with a profound, detached pity.
"You... you can't do this," David stammered, his bravado entirely collapsed.
"I have built an empire by destroying men far more powerful and far cleverer than you, Mr. Lin," Eleanor replied coldly. "You are an annoyance. Now get out of my office before I decide to lodge the tax evasion charges today."
David swallowed hard, his face pale and slick with sweat. Without another word, he backed away, almost stumbling over the threshold, before fleeing down the corridor toward the service elevators.