Chapter 7 - When the Mistress Demands an Apology
At 5:15 PM, as I stepped out of the private executive dressing suite on the sixty-seventh floor, a commotion erupted near the high-speed elevator bank.
High-pitched screaming echoed down the corridor, followed by the sound of scuffling feet and the sharp thud of security batons against the wall.
“Let go of me! Do you know who I am? I am President Shiao’s personal assistant! If you touch me again, I’ll have you all fired and thrown in prison!”
I walked slowly down the carpeted hallway.
Jang Chin Tong was struggling violently against the iron grip of two burly security guards. Her tailored designer dress was disheveled, her expensive makeup streaked with mascara tears, and her hair falling out of its elaborate styling. Her eyes were bloodshot, filled with a toxic mixture of unhinged fury and utter desperation.
When she saw me approach, she froze.
I was no longer wearing the plain charcoal cashmere sweater and flat loafers from this morning.
I was dressed in a breathtaking, floor-length midnight-blue silk gown by Elie Saab, tailored to perfection, catching the light like a night sky. Around my neck rested a custom-crafted sapphire and diamond choker—a piece from my private family collection valued at over three million dollars. My hair was swept up into an elegant, aristocratic chignon, framing a face that was cold, regal, and entirely untouchable.
Jang stared at me, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. The sheer disparity between her cheap, desperate vanity and the undeniable aura of true, sovereign wealth standing before her hit her like a physical blow.
“Release her,” I commanded the security guards softly.
The two guards immediately stepped back, releasing Jang’s arms.
Jang stumbled forward, barely catching her balance on her high heels. She clutched her bruised wrists, her chest heaving as she glared at me with pure, venomous hatred.
“You think you’ve won, don't you?” Jang hissed, her voice trembling with manic intensity. “You think just because you have some fancy title and some old board documents that you can erase me?”
I looked at her with the quiet, detached curiosity one might show toward an insect buzzing against a windowpane.
“You have five seconds to explain why you are trespassing in a secured corporate facility after being formally terminated,” I said evenly.
“I’m not terminated until President Shiao says I’m terminated!” Jang shrieked, taking a furious step toward me. “Shiaoza loves me! He bought me that villa! He bought me the Bentley! He promised me that as soon as he finalized the corporate restructuring, he was going to divorce your dry, boring ass and marry me in Paris!”
The two security guards looked at each other in disgust, stepping closer to restrain her, but I raised a single hand, signaling them to stay back.
“Did he?” I asked, my voice smooth and calm. “Did he also tell you that every single dollar he used to buy your little toys was stolen from my company accounts? Did he tell you that your name is on fourteen fraudulent procurement contracts that carry a statutory minimum of twenty years in federal prison for commercial wire fraud?”
Jang’s face twitched, but her narcissistic delusion refused to shatter.
“You’re bluffing! You’re just trying to scare me! Shiaoza’s lawyers are already filing paperwork to overturn the board’s vote! And tonight, at his mother’s seventieth birthday banquet, President Shiao is going to announce our relationship to high society! He promised me I would sit at the family table!”
I couldn't help it. A genuine, radiant smile broke across my face.
The sheer, staggering stupidity of the woman was almost magnificent. Shiaoza had filled her head with so many grandiose fairy tales to keep her compliant in his bed that she actually believed she was twenty-four hours away from becoming a billionaire high-society wife.
“Is that so?” I asked softly. “Then why are you here, Secretary Jang? If your future is so secure, why are you screaming at security guards in my lobby?”
Jang choked on her words. Her eyes darted frantically around the corridor.
The truth was written all over her face: Shiaoza had stopped answering her calls two hours ago. Her credit cards had declined at the luxury salon. The St. Regis management had locked her out of the penthouse. She had come here in a desperate, frantic attempt to physically reach Shiaoza before her entire fantasy world collapsed into dust.
“Give me back my watch,” Jang suddenly demanded, lunging forward with her hands outstretched, her manicured nails aimed straight toward my face. “Give it back to me! That watch was a gift to ME! You stole it from my wrist!”
Before she could touch the fabric of my gown, the two security guards moved with brutal efficiency.
They grabbed Jang by both shoulders, swept her legs out from under her, and pinned her face-down against the thick carpet.
“Get off me! Let me go! Shiaoza! SHIAOZA!” she shrieked, thrashing wildly against the floor.
I looked down at her with cold, merciless eyes.
“Take her down to the holding cells in the basement,” I instructed the head of security calmly. “Turn her over directly to the sheriff’s deputies when they arrive with the grand jury subpoenas. And if she makes another sound in this building, add aggravated assault and criminal trespassing to the formal charge sheet.”
“Understood, Chairwoman Vane!”
As the guards dragged the kicking, screaming mistress down the corridor toward the freight elevator she had so arrogantly claimed was meant for common workers, I smoothed the silk of my gown, checked the platinum watch resting securely inside my beaded evening clutch, and walked toward the private executive limousine waiting downstairs.
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The stage was set.
It was time to attend Mother-in-law’s grand jubilee.
