The room fell silent.
Then someone snorted.
Then all three of them burst out laughing.
‘Ashton Laurent? Come on, Mira. Pick a more believable name next time.’
‘You expect anyone to buy that?’
Maxwell swirled his wine. ‘Miss Vance, don’t joke like that. I’m the Senior VP, and I see Mr Laurent maybe once a year. You think he’s just sitting around waiting for you to text him?’
I tapped the table. ‘You’re really not scared I’ll report you?’
He shrugged. ‘I told you what I did because I don’t care if it gets out. Besides, you’re not going to do anything.’
I reached across the table, picked up my phone, and held it up. ‘And if I recorded everything just now?’
‘Sure you did,’ he said, lips stretched in a smug, lazy smile.
‘Oh, I sure did.’ I tilted the screen towards him. ‘And I’m sending it to Ashton Laurent right now.’
Maxwell snorted out a scornful laugh. ‘Oh, come on. Are we still playing pretend?’
He turned to Franklin. ‘You didn’t tell me your daughter’s—’
The door swung open. Not gently. The handle slammed against the wall with a flat crack.
His stare swept across the room, then locked straight onto Gary Maxwell.
Maxwell’s laugh died in his throat.
Then Maxwell scrambled up so fast his chair scraped the floor. ‘Mr Laurent—sir—I didn’t expect—I mean, I didn’t know you were coming—’
Franklin and Preston froze mid-breath.
The moment Maxwell said Ashton’s name, they jumped up so fast they nearly tripped over their own feet.
‘M-Mr Laurent,’ Franklin stammered.
‘Mr Laurent,’ Preston echoed dumbly.
Franklin hissed under his breath, ‘Stand up. That’s Mr Laurent from LGH—what the hell’s wrong with you? Get up!’
I gave him a sideways glance. Still didn’t move.
He started sweating through his shirt. The source of thɪs content is novèlfire.net
Franklin and Preston, seated nearest the door, blocked Ashton’s path without realising.
He stopped where he was, gaze cutting through the silence.
He didn’t say a word.
Maxwell started twitching.
‘Mr Laurent, I was just—this is just a business dinner. I’ve been doing due diligence. Research. Vetting suppliers. Logistics firms, you know—’
He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
His face was still blotchy from the whisky, but the colour had drained from around his mouth.
Getting no reply from his boss’s boss, Maxwell tried again. ‘Such a pleasant surprise for you to join us, Mr Laurent. Why don’t we all sit down, talk it through—’
‘Yes, yes!’ Franklin jumped in. ‘Please, let’s sit! Preston, order more food—quickly!’
Maxwell bent so low I thought he might kiss Ashton’s shoes. He gestured at the table with both hands. ‘Please. Sir, make yourself comfortable—’
Ashton didn’t move. He looked at Maxwell’s hands the same way an executioner at the guillotine might eye a condemned man’s neck.
Maxwell hesitated. He looked down at his hands as if searching for blood stains. Then he tried to shove them behind his back.
But Ashton grabbed his meaty wrist.
His grip tightened slowly, steadily, until the tendons in Gary’s wrist started pushing against his skin.
‘Mr Laurent?’ Maxwell was in pain, sweat pouring down his face.
‘Which hand touched my wife?’
Maxwell gulped, mouth open. ‘Wife? What wife? I don’t—I mean, who—’
I cleared my throat, loud enough to turn heads.
Then I raised my hand like I was back in Year Nine maths class.
‘Me,’ I said. ‘I’m the wife.’
Franklin almost dislocated his neck, whipping around so fast.
I pointed at Maxwell’s arm. ‘Wrong hand. It was the left.’
Ashton grabbed the man’s left wrist and twisted hard.
A loud snap cracked through the room.
Maxwell screamed. His knees buckled.
Franklin and Preston jumped back like someone had fired a gun.
The angle of Maxwell’s hand was all wrong, bent backwards with knuckles pointing towards his elbow.
I winced and turned away.
That wrist was not coming back from that.
Maxwell sat on the floor in a heap, blinking at his damaged wrist like he couldn’t believe his eyes.
Then the full extent of the pain, dulled by alcohol, finally hit him.
He started screaming.
He clutched his arm, mouth wide, face white as a sheet.
His howling bounced off the walls, sharp and high and desperate, like a dog being disembowelled.
He didn’t roll around, but it looked like he wanted to.
His voice, when he managed to find it, was high-pitched and wheezing. ‘M-Mr Laurent, it’s a misunderstanding. I didn’t mean anything... I didn’t touch her, I swear!’
I cut him off, ‘You grabbed me in front of half the room, and now it’s a misunderstanding?’
He shook his head. ‘I wasn’t trying to grab you. It was a handshake.’
He flinched like I’d pulled a knife.
‘I was invited by Vance Overland. By your father. We were discussing business. That’s all. I wouldn’t—I mean, I didn’t—’
His eyes flicked to Franklin, desperate for help.
Franklin didn’t move.
He stared at the floor like it might offer him an escape route.
I shrugged. ‘Setting aside the grope disguised as a handshake, there’s a more important issue at stake. Mr Maxwell here accepted a bribe. He was this close to settling the kickback terms before dessert. Not his first time, either. He’s skimmed at least nine figures over the years.’
I looked at Ashton. ‘That’s straight from the horse’s mouth. LGH had an internal audit department, right? Might want to ask them to look into that.’
Maxwell’s forehead was drenched.
Sweat soaked the collar of his shirt and ran down his temples like he’d just crawled out of a sauna in a suit.
‘That’s not true,’ he protested weakly. ‘I’ve worked at LGH for years. I’ve always followed the rules. I was just joking. Must’ve been the wine... Someone misunderstood. Right, Franklin?’