Chapter 97
Serena
I barely tasted the last bite of my osso buco before pushing back from my desk. The warm satisfaction of a good meal evaporated the moment I glanced out the window again.
Wesley. Vanessa. And that small army of thugs.
They were closer now—maybe two minutes from the entrance.
I strode out of my office, forcing my expression into something calm and professional despite the adrenaline flooding my system. The team was still scattered around the main workspace, laughing over their meals, the atmosphere lighter than it had been in months according to Grayson.
"Alright everyone," I said, trying to keep my voice casual. "Lunch break is officially extended. Why don't you all take a walk, get some air, enjoy the afternoon. Be back in half an hour."
The response was immediate and unanimous.
"What? No way!"
"We just got back to work—"
"Boss, we're good here. We want to help—"
"I literally just told my wife I was committed to this company," pizza guy—I really needed to learn his actual name—said. "I'm not leaving now."
"It's not a request," I started, but my voice was drowned out by the sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs.
Then Wesley's voice, echoing up from the stairwell, dripping with mockery.
"Leaving? Why would they leave? Unless you're worried about your employees finding out what kind of person you really are."
Everyone turned toward the door.
Wesley appeared first, Vanessa right behind him, both of them wearing expressions of smug satisfaction. And behind them—
A wall of black suits. At least twelve men, maybe more, filling the narrow stairwell like a flood of expensive menace. Big men. The kind who looked like they'd been hired specifically to intimidate.
Some of them were holding baseball bats.
The office went dead silent.
Wesley stepped into the room, looking around with exaggerated curiosity. "Wow. This is even sadder than I imagined. Your grandfather's empire, reduced to..." he gestured at the cramped space, the old computers, the water-stained ceiling, "...this."
Then his eyes locked on me, and his smile turned vicious.
"Did you tell them?" he asked, his voice carrying across the room. "Did you tell your loyal employees that their new boss is a deadbeat? That she took on millions in debt when she bought this disaster of a company? That she can't pay her bills?"
I felt my team shift nervously behind me. Heard someone mutter something worried under their breath.
"Wesley—" I started, my voice hard.
"Oh, did I not mention?" He addressed the room now, playing to an audience. "Your new CEO inherited all of this company's debts when she bought it. Which means she inherited the money her father owes me. Five hundred thousand in principal, another five hundred thousand in interest and fees. One million dollars total."
He turned back to me. "And if you can't pay it today, right now—"
Vanessa stepped forward, and the men behind her shifted in perfect synchronization. The sound of wood against palm as they adjusted their grips on the bats.
"Then we'll have to find another way to collect," Vanessa said sweetly. "Starting with liquidating everything in this office. Computers, furniture, those paintings in the basement you've been fussing over." Her smile widened. "We'll take it all. And if you or your people try to stop us, well—" she gestured at the wall of muscle behind her, "—we have insurance."
The threat hung in the air, ugly and unambiguous.
"I'm calling the police," I said, already reaching for my phone.
Wesley laughed. "Go ahead. Call them. But debt collection is perfectly legal, Serena. And we haven't actually done anything yet. We're just here to collect what's owed."
"Standing here with a dozen thugs holding weapons isn't 'debt collection,'" I snapped. "It's intimidation."
"Prove it." Vanessa was practically purring now, clearly enjoying this. "Besides, you better get used to handling things yourself. Because the man you've been trying to seduce isn't coming to save you this time."
She stepped closer, her voice dropping to something more intimate, more cruel.
"He's busy, you see. Getting ready for his date tonight. With someone younger. More beautiful. From a better family." Her smile was razor-sharp. "Someone appropriate. Someone who doesn't need to sleep her way into his attention."
The words hit harder than they should have. Because she was right—Lance wasn't coming. Couldn't come. He was probably at home right now, preparing for his dinner with Isabella. The perfect, accomplished, appropriate Isabella who didn't come with scandal or debt or complications.
I felt something twist in my chest. Anger. Disappointment. And underneath it all, the bitter knowledge that I was on my own here.
Which meant I had to be enough.
Behind me, I could hear my team starting to panic. Whispers getting louder. Someone's chair scraping as they stood up, probably thinking about making a run for it.
"If she can't pay—"
"—we should leave before—"
"—I didn't sign up for this kind of—"
One of the younger employees, a kid who couldn't have been more than twenty-two, was edging toward the emergency exit. One of the black-suited men moved to block his path.
"Nobody leaves," Wesley said pleasantly. "Not until this is settled. If your boss won't pay what she owes, then I guess you're all collateral."
"What's going on out here?"
Grayson's voice cut through the chaos. He emerged from his office, his white hair disheveled, his cardigan buttoned wrong like he'd thrown it on in a hurry. He took in the scene—the thugs, the weapons, the way my team was backed against the walls—and his face went pale.
"What is this?" he demanded. "Who are you people? This is a place of business, you can't just—"
"Grayson." I moved between him and Wesley before things could escalate. "Go back to your office. Please. I'll handle this."
"Serena, these men have weapons—"
"I know. And I'm going to deal with it. But I need you safe first." I looked at him directly, letting him see that I meant it. "Please. Trust me."
Grayson looked like he wanted to argue. His hands were shaking—from age or fear or both—and every protective instinct in me screamed to get him out of this situation.
"You," I pointed at one of the braver employees. "Take Grayson back to his office. Make sure he stays there until this is over."
"But boss—"
"Now."
The employee moved quickly, gently steering a protesting Grayson back toward the office. The door closed, and I felt marginally better knowing he was out of immediate danger.
Then I turned back to Wesley and Vanessa, and let every ounce of rage I was feeling show on my face.
"How much?" I asked, my voice cold.