Chapter 21
I walked to the head of the table, clicked the clicker in my hand, and let the first slide hit.
A pie chart. But not about profits.
Fraud.
“Let’s skip the pleasantries,” I said, voice sharp as glass. “We all know what Echelon used to be–cutting–edge, trusted, worth something. And now?” I clicked again. A headline flashed: ‘Bloodlines and Backdoors: Echelon’s Legacy of Corruption.‘
I let it breathe.
“Under the Cunningham umbrella, this company became a playground for insider trades, ghost patents, and off–the–record backroom deals. The people who built this company deserved better. The investors deserved better. The consumers deserved better. But instead, you gave them a legacy soaked in entitlement and blood money.”
A few of them squirmed. One old man coughed into his sleeve.
Mrs. Cunningham was seated at the end of the table, veiled again, but this time it wasn’t dramatic–it was just pitiful. She didn’t say a word. Not yet. Her eyes burned through the veil like she still had claws. But even a dying lioness knows when the pride has left her behind.
I turned back to the board.
“So, here’s the proposal.”
Click.
Slide: Rodrigo Technologies in clean, matte font.
“I’m offering a full acquisition. All debts absorbed. Employees retained. Except for one condition.” I didn’t even look at her when I said it. “She’s out. Effective immediately.”
The vote was brutal. Cold. Public. It wasn’t even close.
Mrs. Cunningham stood, slow and shaky, like something uncoiling for the last time. “You think you’ve won,” she rasped through her veil. “But it won’t last. Power built on vengeance doesn’t age well.”
I finally turned to her. “Neither do matriarchs who confuse silence for loyalty.”
She left with shaking hands and no allies. The ticker changed by that evening.
CUN→RDRG
When I got the call the next morning, I was in the middle of a product launch.
“Mrs. Cunningham… she’s gone,” my secretary whispered. “They found her in her room. Sleeping pills. Left a note. She blamed you. All of it.”
I stared at my coffee. No ripples. No tremor in my hand. Just heat and silence.
They sent the letter over through her lawyer. I didn’t even open it right away. I finished the
12:41 Tue, 24 Jun 04.
launch, had a meeting, ate lunch. Then finally–out of pure curiosity–I slit it open. The handwriting was shaky. Loopy. But unmistakably hers.
“Amelia… You took everything from me. My name. My son. My life. You’ve turned grief into gold, and you wear your cruelty like a crown. I hope one day, the silence swallows you too. That you’ll wake up in a castle made of corpses and ask yourself–was it worth it?”
I didn’t flinch.
I walked over to the fireplace in my office, struck a match, and watched it burn corner by corner until all that was left was smoke and a trace of her perfume in the air.
No guilt. No tears. Nothing.
She earned every inch of that silence.
And as for Favio?
He held a press conference three days later. Hair messy. Tie loose like he wanted to seem “real.” Said he was “ready to take accountability.” That he was “deeply sorry” for the culture of harm, for the “mistakes” made under his leadership.
I watched from my hotel suite in Vienna,
Right as he hit the word “healing,” the broadcast glitched–then flipped.
Audio clip.
Loud. Crystal clear.
Caroline’s voice, bubbly, cruel:
“She cried so hard, I thought her uterus would explode. Ugh. The best part was when I told Favio that the baby probably wouldn’t make it anyway… I just wanted to see how far he’d go to break her. Spoiler alert: he went all the way.”
Then laughter. Her laughter. High and manic. Like a spoiled child tearing wings off a butterfly.
The entire press room fell into stunned silence.
You could hear his breath stutter. His eyes searched the crowd like he was drowning and looking for someone to throw a rope.
But no one did. The stock crashed. He never even got to finish his apology. They cut the stream. I took another sip of champagne, smiled, and muted the TV. Let them try to rebuild a dynasty on rubble and ruin. I didn’t just survive the storm.
I became it.
FAVIO’S POV
The day the press turned on me, I realized something brutal. Amelia didn’t just destroy me. She erased me.
Not with guns or scandals–she used silence, calculated exposure, and timing so vicious it felt surgical. A damn audio leak… Caroline laughing about the baby…? It wasn’t even the
Chapter 21
12:42 Tue, 24 Jun M.
worst thing she’s said, but hearing it blasted out like that, right in the middle of my apology -it was the kill shot. All investors vanished. Partners ghosted. Employees quit overnight.
The Rodrigo name swallowed mine. And Caroline… she shattered like a dropped wineglass.
When I finally picked up her call, her voice was syrupy. Fake calm. “Favio,” she cooed like nothing had burned. “We still have each other, don’t we?”
I laughed, but it was hollow. “We don’t even have a bank account, Caroline. You think I’m gonna hold your hand while we rot in a shelter?”
There was a pause. Then she said, “You wanna let her win?”
That did it.
I drove over that night. Found her in a silk robe like she was still living in the mansion. Her baby was in the next room–screaming. Not crying. Screaming. Unfed, dirty, red–faced, It reeked of milk and sweat and failure.
“She won’t stop,” Caroline whispered, clutching her arms. “I think she hates me. The baby, I hear her even when she’s asleep. Sometimes I see blood in her crib. But it’s not there, Favio. It’s not real, right?”
I looked at her. Really looked.
Mascara down her cheeks. Eyes blown wide like she hadn’t slept in days. That woman I married, the society jewel, was gone. All that was left was a ghost with good bone
structure.
We drove to a shelter the next morning. I didn’t say much. Just handed the baby off, signed the damn papers, and walked away. Caroline didn’t even say goodbye. Back in the car, she turned to me, all sugar and venom.
“Let’s burn the witch.”
I stared at the windshield. “You’re serious.”
“She made your mother kill herself. She killed our careers. Our reputation. Our future. And she did it while smiling. Favio…” She reached over, placed her hand on mine like some manipulative little doll. “We were the dynasty. Now we’re nothing. And if we can’t live, she
can’t either.”
I said nothing for a while. Then I muttered, “So we disappear her.”
“No.” Caroline’s smile was razor–sharp. “We erase her.”
12:42 Tue, 24 Jun M.
Two weeks later, it was done.
