Chapter 82 The Day The Giant Fell
Mark’s POV
The moment I stepped into the Global Business Council Hall, I knew I didn’t belong there anymore.
The lights were unusually dimmer than before. Rather than polite or corporate greetings, I received side glances and then mutterings.
Every pair of eyes followed me as though I carried a contagious disease instead of a last name.
Simmons.
A name that once made rooms rise.
Now it made people whisper.
I forced my back straight, adjusting the lapel of a suit that suddenly felt too heavy.
Cameras clicked around me, and the long crescent table filled with CEOs, conglomerate heads, and international board members stared like a jury waiting to deliver a sentence.
I swallowed.
I could handle a sentence.
Not the humiliation I felt breathing in the room.
A man from the South Asian Trade Division whispered, loud enough for the microphones to pick up:
“He looks smaller in person.”
Another chuckled.
“Forty percent stock drop will do that to a man.”
I had to pretend like I didn't hear that, it would be uncivilized to start a recluse in a corporate meeting.
I reached my seat, placed my files down, and tried to ignore the way the woman from the European Alliance tapped her pen in impatience, like she didn’t even want to share the table with me.
“Mr. Simmons,” Chairman Rojas called, his voice flat. “You may address the council.”
I stood.
The room didn’t just fall silent, it froze.
I cleared my throat, scanning the faces I had once spoken confidently to. Allies. Partners. People who used to shake my hand with both of theirs.
Now they waited for me to fail.
I began anyway.
“Ladies and gentlemen… the recent leak concerning Simmons Group…”
A scoff cut through my sentence.
I clenched my jaw. “...was premature. We are implementing emergency countermeasures. Our team…”
Another interruption, this time from the Middle East delegate.
“Your team is not the issue, Mr. Simmons. The issue is you.”
Laughter rippled throughout the hall.
My palms tightened around the edge of the podium.
“We will recover. Simmons Group will—”
“Enough.”
The chairman lifted a stack of printed documents.
“Before you continue, we must read the official decision of the Global Business Council regarding your company.”
My blood ran cold.
No.
Not like this.
Not in public.
But they didn’t care.
An amionmous meeting had been held before this.
The American representative stood first.
“With Immediate effect,Simmons Group is suspended from all global contracts.”
That sentence came with a heavy heartache.
The Japanese representative stood next.
“Simmons Group is barred from government collaboration across member nations.”
My heart thudded painfully.
The European Alliance leader rose slowly.
“Simmons Group is removed from all strategic alliances.”
The words hit like bullets.
One after another.
The African Development Chair rose.
“Simmons Group is denied legal immunity for any future trade disputes.”
Someone muttered “God.”
My head spun.
“This is a joke,” I forced out. “You cannot…”
The chairman raised a hand, shutting me up instantly.
“Mr. Simmons,” he said, voice cold enough to frost glass, “your company is unstable. Your leadership is compromised. Your finances are collapsing.”
“This council,” he continued, “has elected another company to replace Simmons Group in global projects.”
I blinked.
Replace?
“Who?” I whispered.
He didn’t answer. He didn't have to
Because the side door opened.
With a dramatic entrance, a tall man in a charcoal suit strode to the front of the room.
I recognize the face, the same man I had seen in Danielle's school.
Jonathan Carver.
The name on his badge hit me like a fist.
THE CARVER GROUP OF COMPANIES.
And below it… a second logo.
Davenport Holdings.
My mouth dried. It wasn't the same Davenport that had been trailing me for years?
“No,” I whispered without meaning to. “No, no, not them—”
“Indeed,” the chairman said. “The new corporation spearheading global projects is the Carver-Davenport alliance.”
The man stepped aside.
A woman followed. She was on black heels and a white suit.
My lungs stalled.
My vision blurred for a heartbeat.
It couldn’t be her.
But it was.
Milla Anderson. My ex.
She had always been beautiful, sharp, elegant, untouchable but today she looked like the executioner they hired to finish the job.
Her badge read:
Milla Anderson; CEO, Davenport Holdings.
I felt something inside me tear.
Old wounds I thought time had healed, burst open.
She stepped up to the podium as though she owned the entire room.
Her eyes found mine instantly and a smile litted her face.
“Good to see you again, Mark,” she said, her voice carrying effortlessly through the hall.
“Milla,” I whispered, nothing in my voice making sense of fear, disbelief, pain mixing. “You… you’re Davenport?”
She tilted her head.
“Surprised?” she asked lightly. “You shouldn’t be. You always underestimated me.”
I felt the hit
“Why?” I managed. “Why would you partner with Carver? Why take Simmons’ place?”
Her smile widened just barely.
“Because I could.”