But money is just a tool, Julian, and you don't know how to use it. You only know how to use people. She picked up a document on her desk and signed it. My first act as majority shareholder, Elena announced, is to cooperate fully with the EPA investigation.
We are turning over all internal communications regarding the Kensington coverup, specifically the emails you sent to Brett ordering him to bury the soil report. Brett let out a whimper. I was just following orders. And my second act, Elena said, her voice turning to steel, is a personnel change.
Julian Thorne is hereby terminated as CEO, effective immediately. Security, please escort the trespasser off the premises. Julian looked at the door. Two large security guards, men he had employed, men he had ignored for years, stepped forward.
They didn't look sympathetic. Don't touch me, Julian snarled, backing away. I built this company. I am this company.
Not anymore, sir. One of the guards said, grabbing Julian's arm firmly. Elena, Julian shouted at the screen, desperation taking over. Elena, wait.
Let's make a deal. I can help you. I know the markets don't do this. I gave you a $500 tip.
I offered you a tip. You offered me an insult, Elena said, her finger hovering over the end call button. You asked me a question to prove I was nothing. Now you have your answer.
Please. Julian was being dragged towards the door, his heels skidding on the carpet. I'm Julian Thorne. You can't do this to me.
Goodbye, Mr. Thorne, Elena said. She pressed the button. The screen went black. Julian's screams echoed down the hallway as he was hauled out of his own building past the staring eyes of the employees he had terrorized for a decade.
He was thrown out onto the sidewalk the same way he had thrown Elena out of the restaurant. It began to rain. Julian sat on the wet concrete, his $10,000 suit soaking up the grime of the street. He looked up at the skyscraper he used to own.
He checked his pockets. No phone, no wallet, just a wet, crumpled napkin from the gala. He had nothing. One month later, Elena walked into The Obsidian.
The restaurant was buzzing. She wore a simple, elegant blouse and slacks. She didn't walk with the heavy tread of a conqueror, but with the light step of someone who was free. Table for one, the hostess asked, not recognizing her out of uniform.
Actually, I'm here to see Mr. Henderson. Elena smiled. The manager rushed over, looking nervous. When he saw Elena, he froze.