44. Juliana

FORTY-FOUR

JULIANA

I can't look Hayden in the eye.

I couldn't when he came into the breakroom after Warren left, offering sympathy I probably didn't deserve. And I definitely can't now as I enter the crowded conference room.

Donning an air of authority, each and every board member sitting around the long oak table drags their attention onto me. Their eyes are calm like water, yet sharper than a scalpel, capable of deciphering my every emotion, while theirs stow away in their briefcases. As one of only three women in the room, and perhaps the sole blot of color among a sea of charcoal suits, I'm a minnow in shark territory.

And they know it.

At the head of the table, Warren rises to his feet upon my entrance, prompting his corporate foot soldiers to do the same. Hayden is amongst their ranks, seated next to Elias with pen and paper, ready to take his notes, reminiscent of when I presented my game in this exact room.

My stomach twists into a knot when Warren gestures to me. "Gentlemen, I'd like you to meet Miss Juliana Brooks."

Almost in unison, the entire room nods in my direction, offering reserved smiles, and I wonder if they were programmed that way. With the exception of Hayden, who looks moments from fainting. I make the mistake of catching his eye, only for a split second, but enough to see the anguish in them. In the breakroom, I told him not to interfere, to let me do what I have to do.

Warren notices our connection, his smirk growing even more crooked. "Miss Brooks has an announcement for us. It won't take long." Taking his seat, he nods toward the podium, prompting the entire room to follow suit.

The walk to the front feels like an eternity, every step like trudging through wet sand that threatens to snap my heels in half, sending me crashing to the floor with everyone watching. However embarrassing, I'd choose such a fate over enduring my current circumstances.

Stepping behind the podium, I sweep a hand along the polished oak, finding familiar comfort, until fear grips me once more when I turn back around. I clench my fists, steadying their shakiness, while I peer down the long table, under the weighted stares of at least twenty corporate bigwigs.

Their silence is crippling, maybe worse than Warren's smug expression that burns brighter as I stutter, "I-I... I have a-an announcement for..."

I pick the sides of my nail, feeling fire rage on my cheeks and my heart thump a thousand beats per minute, stealing my words by lodging them down my throat. Taking a few breaths, allowing more agonizing silence to spread across the room, I try again.

"I'm... h-here t-to..."

Hayden covers his mouth, pity and absolute horror shining in his eyes, a stark contrast to the pure delight dancing in his father's. Warren bites down on a laugh and says, "You'll have to excuse her nerves. She's a bit on the shy side."

Amusement scatters down the table. Subdued chuckles. Whispered comments.

Even from here, I catch Warren eyeing my breasts, unabashed by the gravel in his tone as he asks, "Aren't you, Juliana?"

I swallow. He's unchecked with power.

"...Yes," I breathe.

"Go on." He wets his lips, voice booming down the table, filling every corner of the room, unlike mine, which is a soft whisper in comparison.

"Th-this is... rather difficult for me... so, yes, please... excuse my nerves." I stare down at the podium, unable to shake Warren from my peripheral, who rests his chin atop folded fingers, his satisfied sneer widening with my every word. "I've come t-to... tell the truth about something that's rather embarrassing."

I lift my gaze, roaming it down the line of unfamiliar faces, until I reach one dear to my soul, letting it linger for far longer than I should. Leaned back into his seat, chin wobbling in torment, Hayden wears his heart on the sleeves of his Armani suit, except it's mangled and mutilated, his cheeks dampened by the sorrow streaming from his tear ducts. He composes himself, not drawing any attention, but just barely.

Choking down a sob myself, I move along the line to Elias, the only one in the room whose face reveals second-hand embarrassment, visibly affected by my nervousness.

Then there's the two-headed viper at the head of the table, the CEO at the forefront of America's entertainment industry, who's wrought egregious evil into this world. Used people for his own pleasure. Corrupted families, including his own, even turned that wickedness onto his offspring, one of which he appraises with repulsive joy, reveling at the sight of his tears.

Warren Kingston.

There's no telling how many lives he's destroyed. Which is why, when he swivels those ice-cold eyes onto mine once more, I hold his gaze like a bull facing down a matador.

He grins back, waving that red cape.

I stand firm in the ring, unyielding, resilient, patient...

"We're all listening," Warren taunts.

Shifting on my feet, exhaling on wary breath, everything about me embodies that helpless girl Warren loves to prey upon—everything but my eyes—as I sink a hand into my pocket, quiet and undetected.

"E-everyone here d-deserves to know... the truth..."

Warren leans over the table eagerly, devoid of any soul.

"And th-the truth... i-is..."

My fingers curl around cool metal, retreating with stealth as I watch his grin expand into a cruel smile, growing wider and wider, until—

I slot the truth into place.

"I've played you for a fool."

Warren's expression falters, lips parting on some retort he hasn't the time to voice before—

"MOAN LOUDER OR YOUR KIDS WON'T BE STAYING AT THAT SCHOOL MOAN LOUDER OR YOUR KIDS WON'T BE STAYING AT THAT SCHOOL MOAN LOUDER OR..."

Fiddling along the side of the podium, I twist a dial beside the USB I plugged in, blaring Warren's unmistakable voice even louder through the conference room's speakers. And damn, they sure got some powerful ones installed.

Glass walls rattle around us, board members cover their ears and lurch to their feet. Outside, employees wander from the restraints of their cubicles, furrowing eyebrows and whispering to one another, all while Warren Kingston, seated at the undisputed helm of his empire, withers as the bull overtakes him.

His eldest son gapes his way, while the youngest laughs uncontrollably, teetering on the verge of utter hysteria, blending joyous tears with fake ones, as I...

I revel amongst the chaos.

As it turns out, I'm an incredible actress—and so is Hayden. After Mom slipped me a snippet of her camcorder video last night, I listened to it on repeat until I was numb, lest I give the man who abused my mother any of my real tears.

Then, I stayed the night at Mei's, said I needed a girls' night, ensuring Hayden wouldn't try to talk me out of my plan. If he learned of such a video, he'd fear for my safety when confronting his father, but I was—and still am—beyond caring, blinded by a thirst for vengeance. The next morning, I marched myself into the office and put on a grand show, baiting Warren into granting me an audience with his board of directors.

None of which Hayden was supposed to see. No, I cannot emphasize enough how much I seriously wish he hadn't. Now I'll be mortified about it for the rest of my life, despite never having been so tempted to knee a man in the groin or vomit on him as I was during my entire time with Warren.

But the reality is... Hayden did see everything. When he barged into that breakroom, all concerned for my safety and completely sidelining the fact he had just watched what appeared to be me selling my body to his father for trivial accolades, I had to let him in on my plan.

I gave him two choices. Either refrain from joining the meeting, or attend and give a performance.

He sided with witnessing his father's downfall.

Warren bursts to his feet, laden with rage. Bounding toward me, his mouth curves into a vicious frown, spitting words I can't hear over the speakers until he's steps away.

"Turn it off. Turn it off. Turn it off! TURN IT OFF!"

He cranes over the front of the podium, eyes murderous and bloodshot and piercing right into mine, his head red like a rocket about to launch off his neck. Even still, I can hardly hear him. I just smile brazenly, more than happy to suffer a couple years' worth of hearing damage for this moment, which only proves to deepen his wrinkles and bleach his knuckles a starch white as they clutch the podium's edge.

An inaudible laugh escapes me, watching him search about frantically, his exhales seething through clenched teeth, puffing out his cheeks. He makes for a wall outlet and strips the cord connected to the podium, plunging the conference room into a dreadfully painful silence.

Well, maybe only for himself.

Uncovering their ears, each board member stands like a mannequin in a shop window, not voicing a word. It's so quiet, one could hear a pen drop. In fact, I think I do. Somewhere outside, amid the impressive flock of employees huddled around the glass, peering into the fishbowl. Not even their lips move, plunging this entire company into a stunned limbo.

Perhaps, there's no reason to gossip. Everyone heard what they heard.

Warren Kingston. Their CEO and Founder.

Blackmailing an innocent woman.

"You little bitch. You better wipe that smile off your—"

"Ahh!" Across the room, Hayden doubles over in laughter, smacking the table. He stands beside Elias, who stares out into space and is the only person in the entire room sitting.

Warren whirls around. "Ohhhh, I bet you enjoyed that, didn't you?"

"You're right. I did." Hayden swipes at a tear, amidst his lingering chuckles. "I wish we'd caught it all on tape."

"Well, this is obviously a jab at my reputation," he says, not to Hayden but to his board, puffing his chest out, chin pointed high. "I have nothing to hide. The audio clip is clearly fake."

"Would you like me to play the full video?" I threaten, praying he'll say no. The audio was scarring enough.

Warren pauses, offering me a skeptical look, to which I raise an eyebrow. Try me. Straightening his tie, he ushers about the room, a politician campaigning for support.

"And what might that prove? Let me shed some light on the situation for all of you. This young woman—my youngest son's girlfriend—socially engineered her way to the top, gaining an audience with my board, just so she can humiliate me for her own gain. I have no doubt, the minute I adjourn this meeting, she'll be vying for a hefty check. Only then, she will admit to the video's false nature."

I shake my head, watching as he digs himself into a deeper hole. He rounds the table, addressing the other row of members, enunciating his words with the flick of his wrists.

"You see, in this day and age, artificial intelligence knows no bounds. Its capabilities surpass mere text and image generation, stretching into the troubling realms of video manipulation, taking the form of Deepfakes. Yes, I'm sure you've heard, anyone who possesses a speck of technical knowledge and a knack for evil can architect slanderous falsehoods by manipulating voices, even faces—"

"What about the woman in the video?" I interrupt, smirking when his back goes rigid. He swings around, composed, yet, even from across the room, I can still feel the heat of his lethal glare.

"What about her?"

Eyes slot onto me, suddenly flinging me onto center stage of a presidential debate—behind a podium, no less, with an audience fixed behind the confines of a glass wall, who I'm half- convinced deserves a bureaucratic wave. Instead, I square off my shoulders and address the members of the board, as they settle back into their seats, one after the other.

"It's true. Deepfakes are no secret and can prove dangerous in the wrong hands. Public figures—such as Warren, here—are the most likely victims of the crime, largely due to the vast amount of video footage available online, which provides ample data for A.I. learning algorithms..."

From the corner of my eye, I watch Warren's face sink deeper into despair with my every word. Poor guy, going toe-to-toe with me over such a subject. Over any technological topic, for that matter. Above the slump of his drooping shoulders, I catch Hayden's features glowing with pride as I continue.

"But the question still stands—what of the woman in the video? I can assure you, she's no household name and has lived a relatively simple life. There's no online data set on her, which would make fabricating her presence into the video all that more difficult. Furthermore, this woman could personally verify the authenticity of the footage, proving Warren's involvement."

All eyes drift onto Warren, including those behind the glass, awaiting his rebuttal. Although, he appears too dazed to make an attempt. Lips parted. Unblinking. Pale like a ghost. I mean, I don't blame him—even I surprised myself there.

"W-well..." He clears his throat, fumbling for control. "I don't see her here in this room, do you? Unless you're accusing my vice chairwoman or assistant treasurer of—"

"She's in the lobby." I hold up my phone, then bury my head, swiping past the lock screen. "Shall I call her up?" Met with no answer, I tap some more, humming. "Remind me, what floor are we on? Eighty-six?"

I wait... and wait...

"THIS IS AN OUTRAGE!"

There it is.

Huffing and puffing, Warren storms around the room, aimlessly, left and right, back and forth, directing the attention of the crowd outside like a drunken conductor.

"YOU THINK YOU'RE SO CLEVER, HUH?!" he screams to no one in particular, sweat dripping off his brow. "WELL, GUESS WHAT? THIS BOARD ONLY CARES ABOUT MONEY! YOU THINK THEY GIVE TWO SHITS WHETHER OR NOT I FUCKED MY KID'S SLUTTY TEACHER?! I COULD'VE LINED HER UP WITH HER WHORE FRIENDS AND FUCKED EVERY ONE OF THEM, MARRIED OR NOT, AND THESE ASSHOLES WOULD STILL BE RIGHT HERE THE NEXT MORNING..."

There's no describing the looks on the board members' faces, including Elias's, as they witness their CEO lose his mind. Except, the longer I study their expressions, the more I recognize shame. So microscopic, I nearly miss it. Perhaps, there's truth to Warren's words—we're in a den riddled with money-hungry honchos.

So, when I catch Hayden's gaze a second time and find it even smugger than before, I simply nod, prompting him to pull out his phone and start tapping away. Enacting phase two. Made possible by the delicious little secret he unveiled in the breakroom that'll make this even sweeter...

"THEY STAGED A COO! THEY..."

Ding. Ding. Ding...

A few board members look to their pockets.

"BOTH OF THEM! SLIMY, ENTITLED brATS, AFTER MONEY THEY DIDN'T EARN..."

Ding. Ding. Ding...

Hushed whispers skate across the room as they share and point to their phones...

"SUCH A FUCKING EMBARRASSMENT ON THIS FAMILY! UNDESERVING OF SUCH A STRONG LINEAGE! A WASTE OF PRIVILEGED POTENTIAL! A GLARING PIT STAIN ON OUR—"

He halts abruptly, the last of his rambles echoing between the glass, mingled with the growing urgency in the air. The board members shake their heads to one another, hiss beneath their breaths, gesturing to their CEO, until a woman clad in a pristine, ebony two-piece suit bursts to her feet—

Right as Elias peers over his phone at Hayden, both exchanging a look that lingers. Relief outpours from the youngest, while the eldest swims in his pool of understanding, yet surfacing from a pained regret. The sight is something I can't begin to comprehend but will never forget, as it's telling of the most heartfelt of discoveries...

Hayden cares more about his brother than the demise of his father.

The board woman scoffs at Warren. "I thought the whole reason you aren't in your office much is because you oversee movie sets."

He hesitates, before arching a brow. "Yes, that is—"

"He told me he was delegating foreign rights," another says.

Warren doubles down, shaking his head. "What are you all looking a—"

"Your work logs." Hayden's voice rakes up his father's spine, to which he can't help but twist the knife. "I sent them to every person on your board—including lower management, which may be why we're amassing quite an audience."

Lips curling with disgust, Warren flicks his gaze toward the glass, only to slither it back to his youngest son. He rounds the table on deliberate steps, until he stares right down at Hayden, arms crossed.

"I don't clock my hours," he challenges.

Hayden smiles up at him. "Oh, but your assistants do."

Warren's expression fractures like glass.

Rising to his feet, reaching heights surpassing Warren, Hayden looks down at his father, an inch from his nose, seeping all the air from his lunges—and the room.

"How ironic that you sat me at that tiny desk yourself, assigning me a station that would later prove to be your downfall. I was surprised, too, to discover all the power personal assistants possess. Every email address in the company at my disposal, and every executive's work logs." Hayden snickers in his face. "One click, and I sent the proof you throw all your work onto Elias, your own son, to everyone in the room."

More whispers.

"What do you do all day, hmm?"

Amid the hushed accusations, a little sound escapes Warren.

"Want to know what I think?" He pokes him in the chest. "I think you're off doing nothing productive. I rarely smell a whiff of alcohol on you, so you're not an alcoholic. Your eyes don't scream substance abuse, which leaves only one answer." He throws a quick glance down the line of chairs. "Spoiler alert. It's the obvious one."

Fists clenching at his sides, Warren grits out. "And what's that?"

Hayden bites down on a laugh, eyes twinkling with delight. "That you're off being a manwhore." Like scorching steam, blood rises up onto Warren's features, popping veins and flaring his nostrils, when Hayden nears even closer. "Takes one to know one, huh?"

Combusting in a fit of rage, Warren shoves Hayden back into his chair, storming past Elias, who's finally woken up, like an angry funnel cloud, forming far off in the horizon. His father's at a safe distance—for now.

"I AM YOUR CEO!" Warren thrashes his arms through the air, gesturing to his entire board, hair disheveled and surely falling out before our very eyes. "YOU ABIDE BY MY RULES, WHETHER YOU LIKE THEM OR NOT! I OWN OVER FIFTY PERCENT OF THIS COMPANY'S SHARES! THERE'S NO DETHRONING ME, EVEN IF YOU WANTED TO..."

I sigh, tuning into his tantrum, but not before executing a crucial step in the third and final phase of my glorious plan.

Send a single text to my mother.

Juliana: We're ready for her.

Leaning onto the podium, I close my eyes, listening as Warren throws himself into further hysteria, shaking the glass behind me. I listen and listen, humming along to its beat, until my eyes open by some outside force.

A presence.

Judging by how the board members veer their gazes, I'm not the only one who senses it. Every person in this room stops and stares, anticipating something as the crowd of employees parts in two.

That is, everyone but Warren, until...

Even he turns his attention, just as the crowd breaks, revealing a woman of auburn hair and unrivaled authority, who has Warren sinking into a chair that's not even at the head of the table.

Briefcase in hand, Lauren Astor struts through the crowd, flaunting her designer pantsuit with every step, and it's like the world stops breathing, until those perfectly manicured fingernails grace the door handle.

Our family's lawyer, whom I met last night and aided in devising such a plan. Although a bit intimidating at first, Lauren is like all the little angels on my shoulders fused into one person. A compassionate soul who, after hearing my family's story, agreed to take our case on Pro Bono, despite her obscenely high retainer as a senior partner at Astor Associates that specializes in data privacy.

The door seals behind her, caging Warren in with a predator. As she nears him, he shies away, until he's craning his head up at her.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Yes," he says dryly. "I think everyone in this room does. So, get on with it. Why are you here, Lauren? Silicon Avenue must be dreadfully boring as of late, and all the drama surrounding your family must've blown over, for you to waste your time on sexual misconduct allegations with flimsy grounds."

As if he were scum stuck on her stiletto, her gaze descends upon him, while somehow managing to tilt her chin upwards, proudly. A signature move, no doubt.

"We'll see how flimsy a jury thinks that video is, after I call you to the stands." All the color drains from his face. "That's right, this matter will be settled in court. On behalf of the Brooks' family, you are hereby served, for your crimes against Amber Brooks and also her daughter, Juliana—or did you think your egregious copyright infringement on the gaming world's largest stage would go unnoticed?"

"Fine!" He bursts from his chair. "Serve me, then. Represent that bitch and her daughter." His vicious gaze swings over to me, but it's short-lived, as his aimless stomping picks back up. He breezes past Lauren, who catches my gaze with a wink. "That's why you came all this way, huh?! Serve me some fucking papers that I'll just hand to my team of lawyers—"

"No."

He stops in a random spot, chest heaving.

"Your lawyers have already received the papers. I'm here—in this room—for an entirely different reason. Of a more... personal courtesy, if you will."

"Fucking lawyers, always speaking in riddles. What personal courtesy?"

"Aiding in a transition of power."

Several board members perk up.

Warren hesitates... "What the hell do you mean by that?"

She only smiles, her teeth blinding between her red lipstick. "Exactly what you think."

The room stills, awaiting Warren's implosion, except... his roar never comes. Only a snicker. Quiet and harmless sounding, like a comedian winning over his chuckle. And then another. Until they're pouring out of him like waves, tears stinging his eyes, as he pounds the table, doubling over the oaken slab in laughter.

"WHEW! Which university handed you that law degree, again? I think you may want to consider getting a refund. Sorry to break it to you, sweetie, but I own over fifty percent shares. Which means—let me put it plainly for you—there's no voting me out as CEO, no matter how much they despise me."

Lauren waits out his laughter, unimpressed. "Thank you for that enlightening summary, but you forgot one slim detail."

"Sure, sure. And what's that?" he drawls, actually rolling his eyes in a board meeting.

"The board has the power to relinquish your duties as CEO, if they elect a Kingston heir, with an eighty percent majority vote. In this case, one of your two sons."

One by one, eyes slide down the table, to the near-identical brothers seated at one another's side. Hayden smiles, proudly—not back their way.

But at Elias.

Warren follows their gazes. "No, no... that's not true."

Lauren only shakes her head, chuckling.

"Tell them," he warns.

"Tell them what?" she sing-songs. "The truth? Let me recap. The board may initiate a vote at any ti—"

"DON'T FUCKING LIE!" He storms toward her, not slowing his pace, intending to intimidate her, only to grind to a halt an inch before colliding with her as she stands her ground. "You have no bases to—"

"Actually, I do." She throws her briefcase on the table. Unclasping the hooks, she slaps down a hefty packet on the table. "Check the board's bylaws yourself. Section fifty-two, article six. In fact, why don't you all?" More packets slide across the oak, one landing between Hayden and Elias.

Grumbling up a storm, Warren tears through the packet, only for his shoulders to crumble... then harden back to their regular steel in seconds. "This is a fucking lie," he seethes, as the packets get passed around. "A fabricated, false document aimed to—"

Hayden bolts to his feet, sending his chair soaring behind him. "All in favor of electing Elias as CEO, please rise!"

Gasps ring out, not just in the conference room, but from behind the glass. For a moment, none dare to move, earning a wicked grin from Warren. "That's right. You're all so righteous until your profits are at stake. No one wants to take the risk on an untested young—"

A member rises, the woman in the ebony suit. Her gaze is defiant.

Warren scoffs. "I've always known you've hated me, Gloria. Well, guess what? No one ever sides with your proposals, and they won't start now—"

Another member stands. A man who avoids his stare completely.

"That's just great, Bill—"

And another. Then another. So quickly Warren doesn't have time for a snarky comment. One after the other, members rise to their feet confidently, earning cheers from outside the glass, as Elias just sits there, stunned, crumbling into his seat with the most sincere look on his face, staring down the long line of members.

All standing unanimous.

Mind blown, still standing behind the safety of my podium, I watch as the glass rattles amid the roaring crowd, prying snickers from those inside the conference room. Employees jump for joy, laughing and slapping their hands against the glass. You'd think it's New Year's Eve or something.

Warren must not be one for parties, because the sight absolutely blows a fuse with him, to a level I didn't know he could reach at this point. His face is impossibly red. Hair sticking straight up like a mad scientist. And his feet clomp hard enough to puncture right through the carpet as he bellows at the top of his lungs, throwing the biggest of all hissy fits.

All while I get the most comical view, from my vantage point. I watch it all, see it all coming, almost in slow motion.

The unhinged tirade. Tearing the paper packets, flinging them into the air. Spitting gut-wrenching words at both of his sons. And the security team splitting through the crowd, bursting through the door, before tackling Warren .

"Get off me!" He writhes against the ground, his stomach spilling below his collared shirt, rising more with his every movement. "GET OFF ME!"

"Stop resisting," they order calmly, repeating several times, to no avail, before slamming his cheek into the ground, bundling his wrists behind his back.

Slowly— oh-so very slowly —Elias rounds the table, taking his seat at the head, right above the whole scene.

"Tell them to get off me!" Warren screeches, looking up at his son, when metal against metal clinks through the air.

The guards pause and look to the man seated on the throne, waiting for orders...

Elias leans back, crosses his feet at the ankles, the soles of his feet two inches from Warren's face. He struggles angrily, as his son utters the first command of his reign.

"Cuff him."

Squeals erupt from outside, and they only rage on, combusting into hysterical fits, as the guards cuff and haul Warren to his feet, dragging him until he abandons his defiance and uses his legs. On their way out the door, Elias stands, giving one last command...

"He's never to set foot in our lobby, ever again."

When our room explodes in their own form of celebration, I bound toward Hayden's contagious laughter, entranced by its call, until...

Outside grows mysteriously quiet.

Curious, I swivel on my heels, only to discover a scene that has me rushing out the door, pushing through the path in the crowd, and arriving at the end...

My mother stares Warren down.

Donning her usual getup—jeans and a colorful blouse—Amber looks at Warren, as if he's nothing. She wears no smile. Offers no smug expression. In return, he meets her gaze unwillingly, every muscle tense with the horrid realization of who's to blame for the loss of his throne, his titles, his power.

For perhaps the first time in his life, Warren has nothing to say.

But Amber does.

"I warned you not to mess with my family."