Chloe finally found her voice, a strained whisper. “This is insane. You’re insane, Maya. This is slander. I’ll have you arrested.”
I shook my head slowly. “You won’t. Because you know it’s true. And because you know what will happen if this information ever leaves this room.”
Her gaze darted to the tablet, then to my face, searching for a crack in my composure. There was none. I had anticipated this, rehearsed it a thousand times in my head.
“What do you want?” she spat, her voice laced with venom. “Money? How much? I’ll buy your silence.”
She began to open her designer bag, as if to pull out a checkbook, or maybe just a stack of cash. Her casual offer of a bribe was infuriating, yet utterly predictable. She assumed everyone had a price.
“I don’t want your money, Chloe,” I said, my voice firm. “I want your silence. And your power.”
She stopped, her hand hovering inside her bag. Her brow furrowed, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing her features. “What are you talking about?”
“The studio board,” I clarified. “Your proxy vote. Your influence. Your seat at the table. I want it all.”
Her mouth fell open slightly. “You can’t be serious. That’s my inheritance. Twenty million dollars worth of voting rights.”
“Exactly,” I said, a cold satisfaction spreading through me. “The same twenty million you were so desperate to protect by framing me, destroying my reputation, and slowly poisoning me out of Arthur’s life.”
She recoiled as if struck. The accusation hung in the air, heavy and undeniable.
“And,” I continued, “I want a full, public retraction of every single smear campaign you’ve launched against me. Every tabloid story, every ‘anonymous source,’ every fabricated quote. Dead. By morning.”
Chloe’s eyes narrowed into angry slits. She paced a short distance, her high heels clicking softly on the polished floor.
“You think you can just waltz in here and take everything?” she sneered, her voice gaining strength, trying to regain control. “My family has run this studio for generations. You’re a nobody. An outsider.”
“An outsider with undeniable evidence of your felony crimes,” I corrected, my gaze unwavering. “Attempted poisoning. Slander. Conspiracy to defraud. Imagine the headlines, Chloe. Not just for you, but for the entire Kensington legacy.”
I watched her face, searching for any sign of defiance. She was good at hiding her true feelings, but this was different. This was existential.
“Your career would be over,” I pressed, twisting the knife. “Your reputation. Your future. And Arthur, when he finds out… he may be old, but he’s fiercely protective of those he cares about. What do you think he’d do to someone who tried to poison his wife?”
Her face went pale again. Arthur. That was the real lever. Not just the law, but the devastating personal betrayal.
She stopped pacing. Her chest rose and fell rapidly. She was cornered.
“What kind of documents?” she finally choked out, her voice barely a whisper. “What do you want me to sign?”
“A formal transfer of your studio board proxy,” I explained, “to me. Irrevocable. Effective immediately. And a signed confession detailing the smear campaign and your intent to poison, which I will hold. A failsafe, should you ever decide to try and reclaim what you just surrendered.”
I pushed a few printed documents across the glass table. They looked official, stark against the glittering vanity.
Chloe stared at them, then at me. Her shoulders slumped. The light seemed to drain from her, leaving her looking hollow. The reality of her situation had finally crushed her carefully constructed facade.
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