After Being Shoved Down at Her Political Gala Wedding by Her Wealthy Landlord Fiancé, a Self-Made Campaign Strategist Triggers a $2 Billion Merger Cancellation that Destroys His Dynasty
The digital clock on my secondary office computer flickered past 1 AM. The grand ballroom announcement had unleashed a torrent, but the first thing I had to do was secure our digital future. I hadn’t gone home; I had come straight here, to our small, rented campaign annex in Foggy Bottom.
The streets outside were quiet, a stark contrast to the earlier chaos. I typed furiously, initiating a full data backup, transferring client lists, donor information, and strategic documents to encrypted cloud storage. My hands trembled slightly as I worked.
Suddenly, the office door, usually locked with a deadbolt, rattled.
I froze.
A heavy fist pounded, once, then again. “Maya! Open up! This is Julian Kincaid, on behalf of Kincaid Properties.”
My heart hammered against my ribs. I stared at the door. I could hear other voices outside, low and indistinct, but definitely more than one.
“We have an emergency eviction order, Maya,” Julian’s voice came again, sharper this time. “Signed by Judge Thorne himself. You have thirty minutes to vacate these premises.”
Judge Thorne was one of Evelyn’s oldest appointments. This wasn’t just Julian; it was the Kincaid machine, already moving.
I didn’t open the door. I sped up my data transfer, my fingers flying across the keyboard. This was Twist 3A. They weren’t just cancelling the merger; they were coming for everything.
Just as the last progress bar completed, the doorknob turned, and the lock clicked. The door creaked open, revealing Julian and two burly men from Kincaid security. Behind them, I glimpsed two figures I recognized from political fundraisers: Senator Albright and Councilman Davies, Julian’s uncle. They stood stiffly, observing, their faces grim.
“You really thought you could destroy my family and walk away?” Julian’s voice was low, dangerous. He gestured to the security guards. “Everything here belongs to us. That includes your precious files.”
He looked directly at my laptop. I slammed it shut and snatched it, clutching it to my chest.
“You have no right to my personal property,” I stated, my voice steadier than I felt.
“Personal property?” Julian scoffed. “You worked for my campaign, on my dime, in my building. It’s all Kincaid property now. Including your career.”
Senator Albright stepped forward, his jowly face expressionless. “Maya, I advise you to cooperate. There are… other opportunities, if you do.” His words implied a threat, a promise of permanent exile.
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Julian. I knew what this was: a blackball. They were going to make sure no one in D.C. would touch me.
But they hadn’t gotten the digital files.
I gripped my laptop tighter, turned, and walked out the door, pushing past the security guards and the Kincaid loyalists. The bitter taste of defeat mixed with a growing resolve. They could take the office, but not what was in my head, or on my hard drive.
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