Chapter 6 - The Confrontation at the Office
Twenty-four hours later, the holiday was over, and the financial district of the city roared back to life.
I sat in my corner office on the twelfth floor of *Collins Commercial Group*, the property management and real estate development firm my father had built from a two-man consultancy into a regional powerhouse.
For four years, out of deference to Travis’s fragile ego, I had kept my title modest. On our holiday cards, he had referred to me as an "administrative director," while telling his friends at the country club that I simply "dabbled in interior decorating."
In reality, I was the sole managing director and eighty-percent equity owner of the firm.
At 9:15 AM, the security desk in the marble lobby downstairs phoned my executive assistant.
"Mrs. Manion, Mr. Travis Manion is in the lobby. He is demanding to be allowed up to your floor. He is extremely agitated, ma'am. He says he is a joint managing partner and will have our guards arrested if we do not grant him elevator access."
I pressed the intercom button. "Do not allow him up, Robert. Call building security to escort him to the private executive conference room on the ground floor. I will be down in five minutes with counsel."
Arthur Vance stepped into my office from the adjoining conference room, smoothing the lapels of his charcoal suit. "Showtime, my dear. Remember: he will attempt to invoke your guilt, then your fear, then your sense of pity. Do not engage with the emotion. Stick exclusively to the balance sheet."
"I am completely out of pity, Arthur," I said, picking up my leather portfolio.
When we stepped into the private ground-floor conference room, Travis looked like a man who had survived a train derailment. His hair was unwashed, his designer suit was wrinkled, and the reek of stale bourbon hung heavy in the air around him.
The moment the door opened, he lunged to his feet.
"Lana! What is this insane circus? You had private guards throw me out of our house! Danielle and my mother had to sleep in a roadside motel last night because their cards were frozen! Do you have any idea what you've done?"
Arthur Vance stepped forward, his towering frame immediately blocking Travis’s path. "Mr. Manion. Step back to your side of the table immediately, or the two off-duty officers outside that door will place you in physical restraints for violating the temporary protective order."
Travis glared at Arthur, his nostrils flaring. "Stay out of this, you old vulture! This is between me and my wife!"
"I am not your wife, Travis," I said, walking around the table and taking a seat. I gestured toward the chair opposite me. "Sit down. Or leave. Those are your only two options."
He stood there for five seconds, his chest heaving, his hands trembling. Finally, realizing the power dynamic had completely inverted, he slumped into the leather chair.
"Lana," he said, shifting instantly into his wounded-puppy persona, his eyes shining with forced tears. "Why are you doing this? Over a silly argument at Christmas dinner? Over Danielle's stupid sweater? I was stressed, baby. You know how much pressure I've been under at work. I didn't mean to grab your arm. I swear to God I didn't. I was just trying to keep the peace."
"The sweater has nothing to do with this, Travis," I said, opening my portfolio and sliding a crisp photocopy across the polished wood.
It was the Delaware incorporation document for *Apex Horizons LLC*.
Travis’s face drained of what little color it had left.
"You... you went through my private papers," he stammered.
"I took the envelope your mother left on the entryway table. The one marked with the deadline for your grand scheme." I leaned forward, resting my forearms on the table. "You forged my signature on a Power of Attorney. You attempted to encumber my father's commercial properties with a two-million-dollar high-interest loan. You planned to siphon the money into Danielle and Sheila's shell corporation, and then you planned to serve me with divorce papers on January twenty-second, claiming I was an unstable dependent."
Travis swallowed hard. His voice dropped to a desperate whisper. "Lana... it wasn't like that. You don't understand the bind I was in. The guys from the offshore syndicate... they were threatening me. They said they were going to come to the house! I had to find a way to clear the debt! I was going to pay the loan back, I swear to you! I was going to reinvest the commercial proceeds—"
"Reinvest?" Arthur Vance barked a harsh laugh. "Mr. Manion, you couldn't successfully manage a lemonade stand. You have systematically embezzled forty-two thousand dollars from your stepdaughter’s educational trust fund."
The room went deathly quiet.
I froze. I slowly turned my head toward Arthur, the breath catching in my throat. "What?"
Arthur opened a secondary folder. "Marcus Cho uncovered it three hours ago, Lana. Two years ago, when you transferred Harper’s custodial inheritance trust from her father’s estate to your family banking portal, you added Travis as an emergency secondary signatory. Between March and October of this year, Travis executed seven distinct micro-transfers totaling forty-two thousand dollars from Harper’s college trust directly into Danielle's boutique checking account."
I looked back at Travis.
Whatever lingering remnant of humanity, whatever memory of affection I had once held for this man vanished completely. It was incinerated by a white-hot, diamond-hard fury that made my voice drop into a terrifying, lethal calm.
"You stole Harper’s college money," I whispered.
"Lana, listen to me—"
"You took the money my dead husband left for his daughter's education, and you gave it to your sister to buy handbags and pay her luxury apartment rent."
Travis raised his hands defensively, backing away toward the wall. "It was a bridge loan! Danielle was going to pay it back as soon as her marketing firm signed their new client! We were going to replace every single dollar before Harper turned twelve!"
"Arthur," I said, not taking my eyes off Travis.
"Yes, Lana?"
"File the criminal complaints. All of them. Grand larceny, wire fraud, identity theft, child asset conversion. Call the state prosecutor's office. Call the Delaware Secretary of State. Call the bar association regarding Gregory Morris."
"No! Lana, please!" Travis fell to his knees beside the conference table, entirely abandoning what little dignity he possessed. He reached out to grab the hem of my coat, but Arthur Vance stepped between us, his cane striking the floor with a resounding *crack*.
"Touch her, Mr. Manion, and you leave this room in an ambulance," Arthur warned.
"Lana, please!" Travis sobbed, tears streaming down his cheeks now, completely unvarnished terror taking over. "My mother will lose her house! Danielle will go to prison! I'll be disbarred from finance! We'll be ruined!"
I stood up, picked up my portfolio, and looked down at the weeping, pathetic shell of the man who had bruised my arm two nights ago and told me I was nothing without him.
May you like
"You aren't going to be ruined, Travis," I said coldly. "You are already ruined. You just haven't heard the sound of the cell door locking behind you yet."
***
