Chapter 4 - Damage Control
By seven o'clock the following morning, the news had already broken, though not in the way Darius would have preferred.
While Holt Table’s PR team had worked through the night to enforce non-disclosure agreements on the staff at Atlas House, they couldn't control forty wealthy guests who possessed private group chats. A blurred video snippet—captured by a junior analyst sitting at the far end of the table—had leaked onto a prominent financial news blog. It showed Darius covered in bright orange soup, screaming profanities while Noel walked calmly toward the exit.
In the penthouse suite of the Holt Table headquarters on Michigan Avenue, Darius was pacing furiously. A white bandage was taped over his left ear where the scalding soup had blistered the skin, and his eyes were bloodshot from a night spent without sleep.
“Where is she?!” Darius slammed his fist down onto the mahogany conference table, glaring at his legal counsel and his PR director. “Has anyone located her yet?”
Leila Morgan sat near the window, clutching an iPad. Her face was pale. “Her personal phone is off. We checked the townhouse on Astor Place—she hasn't been there. Her car is still in the garage.”
“Check her bank accounts!” Darius yelled, turning on his chief financial officer, Richard Hayes. “Cut off her credit cards! Freeze everything! Let’s see how long she lasts without my money!”
Richard hesitated, clearing his throat uncomfortably. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses before looking up from his laptop. “Darius... we have a problem.”
“What problem?” Darius spat.
“I tried to freeze the joint primary accounts as you instructed at midnight,” Richard explained slowly. “But the system rejected the override. Noel removed her name from the joint accounts three days ago, and pursuant to the corporate charter signed during the Series B funding, she exercised her rights as co-trustee to transfer half of the liquid reserves into an escrow account held by Benton Holdings.”
Darius froze, his chest heaving under his crisp white shirt. “She did what?”
“She moved thirty-five million dollars, Darius,” Richard said quietly. “Legally. As co-founder and equal voting partner of the parent entity.”
A heavy silence descended upon the executive suite. Leila looked up from her screen, her eyes wide with sudden panic.
“That’s impossible!” Darius roared, stepping toward Richard. “I run this company! She’s just a figurehead! She hasn't touched the corporate finances in two years!”
“She built the financial architecture, Darius,” Richard reminded him gently, terrified of his boss’s temper but forced to deliver the reality. “You handle the brand and the press. She handles the structure. And according to the filing she lodged with the Delaware secretary of state at 8:00 AM today, she has officially initiated a corporate audit into Holt Table Enterprises.”
Darius sank into his leather chair, the color draining from his face. The scald on his ear throbbed violently. He remembered the folded paper Noel had been holding at the dinner table—the paper he had assumed was just a seating chart.
It hadn't been a seating chart. It had been the execution order for his empire.
Just then, Darius’s private line rang. The caller ID displayed the name Arthur Sterling.
Darius took a deep breath, forced his signature charm back into his voice, and picked up the receiver. “Arthur! Good morning. Look, about last night, it was a deeply regrettable domestic misunderstanding— Noel has been under a lot of stress—”
“Save it, Darius,” Sterling’s voice was cold, flat, and devoid of the warmth he had displayed the night before. “The term sheet for the forty-million-dollar expansion is withdrawn.”
“Arthur, wait!” Darius stood up again, panic rising in his chest. “We can talk about this! The fundamentals of Holt Table are stronger than ever!”
“Your wife was the only reason my firm trusted your operational discipline, Holt,” Sterling replied sharply. “And after seeing how you treat the woman who built your company, I have serious doubts about your judgment. Furthermore, my wife was sitting at that table. If I continue to do business with you, she’ll divorce me. Good day, Darius.”
The line went dead.
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Darius stared at the receiver in his hand, the dial tone buzzing like a swarm of hornets in his ears. He looked around the room at his terrified staff.
“Find her,” Darius growled, his voice trembling with a terrifying mixture of rage and desperation. “Find her before she destroys everything else.”
