Thomas smiled now, openly. “You want him to step onto the stage.”
“I want him comfortable on it,” Diana said. “I want him certain he has won.”
Meline’s fingers paused over her tablet. “And then?”
Diana looked at the cardboard box.
“Then Ethere Dynamics meets its real chairman.”
That week, Arthur was almost kind to her.
Almost.
He came home late, kissed her forehead absently, and spoke with the relaxed generosity of a man who believed he had successfully handled an inconvenience. He told her she would enjoy rest. He suggested she take a pottery class. He mentioned that staying home might “soften” her a little after years of spreadsheets.
Diana cooked dinner twice. Not for him, exactly. For the ritual of it. For the farewell to a life she had once tried to build sincerely. She watched him eat the food she made while texting beneath the table, smiling at messages that were not from her.
On Wednesday night, he stood before the bedroom mirror adjusting his tuxedo.
“The gala will be important,” he said. “The press will be there. Venture partners. Strategic investors. Everyone who matters.”
Diana folded one of his shirts and placed it on the bed. “Everyone?”
He glanced at her through the mirror. “You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
He turned, softening his face into concern. “You’re taking this better than I expected.”
“The firing?”
He winced. “The transition.”
Diana smiled faintly. “Would anger have changed your mind?”
“No,” he admitted, and then seemed to realize how cold that sounded. “But Diana, you have to understand. I’m under pressure. I can’t afford emotional complications inside the company. Khloe has ideas. She sees the future clearly.”
“Does she see you clearly?”
His expression tightened. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
His phone lit up on the dresser.
Khloe: Friday changes everything. Finally, no more hiding.
Arthur flipped it face down.
Too late.
Diana looked at the phone, then back at him.
“You should get some sleep,” she said. “Big night.”
The shareholders gala was held in the grand ballroom of the Fairmont Olympic Hotel, where old Seattle money and new technology money met under crystal chandeliers and pretended they were the same species. The night smelled of champagne, rain-damp wool, roses, perfume, and expensive nerves. Waiters moved silently between tables with silver trays. A string quartet played near the balcony. Cameras clustered near the step-and-repeat wall where Arthur’s face appeared beside the Ethere Dynamics logo.
Arthur loved every inch of it.
He stood near the ice sculpture, laughing too loudly, one arm around Khloe’s waist. She wore a backless emerald gown and the Cartier necklace, her mouth shining, her posture already executive. Every few minutes, she touched Arthur’s lapel or leaned close to whisper something in his ear, making sure the photographers caught intimacy without quite catching scandal.
Arthur believed the night belonged to him.
Near the front, Thomas Gable, Meline Hayes, and Gregory Pierce sat at the primary investor table. They did not drink. They did not laugh. They sat with the quiet patience of people waiting for a scheduled execution.
Arthur noticed them and felt a flicker of irritation.
“Board looks stiff tonight,” Khloe whispered.
“They’ll come around,” Arthur said. “They always do.”
At eight o’clock, the lights dimmed.
Music swelled.
The crowd settled.
Arthur climbed the steps to the stage, adjusted his cuffs, and took his place behind the lucite podium. Camera flashes sparked from the press area. He paused just long enough to let everyone admire him.
“Good evening,” he began. His voice filled the ballroom. “Five years ago, Ethere Dynamics was an ambitious idea. Today, we are redefining logistics intelligence across North America. But success is not a destination. It is a demand.”
Applause.
Arthur smiled.
“To continue leading, we must evolve. We must make hard decisions. We must clear outdated structures and welcome bold, visionary leadership. Tonight, I am proud to announce the appointment of our new chief operating—”
The microphone cut out.
A sharp burst of feedback cracked through the ballroom, then vanished into silence.
Arthur tapped the mic. “Check. Check.”
He looked toward the AV booth, fury flashing across his face.
Then the double doors at the back of the ballroom opened.
Every head turned.
Diana stood in the doorway.
For a moment, the room did not understand what it was seeing.
She wore a scarlet gown that moved like flame and fit like armor. Her hair was swept back. Diamonds rested at her throat, understated and unmistakably real. She carried herself with such unhurried authority that the aisle seemed to become hers before she took a single step.
Whispers began.
“Is that Diana from accounting?”
“Didn’t she get fired?”
“Who is she?”