Chapter 2: The Call
The SUV rolled through the city in silence.
My reflection stared back at me from the dark window. Cheek red. Lip split. Eyes empty.
I pressed my palm against the glass. It was cold.
Cold enough to remind me I was still here.
Still breathing.
"Where to, ma'am?"
My driver's voice was steady. Professional. He'd seen worse than a woman with a bruised face.
"Headquarters."
He nodded. "Your father is waiting. He's been on the phone for the past hour."
Of course he had.
My father didn't sleep. Not when there was work to be done. Not when there was revenge to execute.
My phone buzzed.
I looked at the screen.
Andrew's name.
I watched it buzz for ten seconds before I let it go to voicemail.
Then it buzzed again.
And again.
And again.
Twenty-three missed calls in five minutes.
Then a text.
This isn't funny, Mariana. Come home. We can fix this.
I didn't respond.
Another text.
Don't do something stupid. You're making a scene. People are talking.
I almost laughed.
Another text.
I know you're upset. I'm sorry. Just come back.
I turned my phone off.
The Sorry.
The first one in four years.
And it only came because his money was threatened.
I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes.
Four years.
Four years of being invisible.
Four years of being small.
Four years of being told my opinions didn't matter, my ideas weren't good enough, my presence was barely tolerated.
And the worst part?
I believed them.
For the first year, I thought it was my fault.
I tried harder. Spoke softer. Dressed better. Learned everything I could about wine and art and which fork to use for which course.
Nothing changed.
For the second year, I thought maybe I could earn their respect.
I worked behind the scenes at his company. Fixed problems nobody knew existed. Saved accounts that were hemorrhaging money.
Nobody noticed.
For the third year, I accepted that they would never love me.
I just wanted peace.
I just wanted to exist without being attacked.
But peace was never an option.
Not with Margaret. Not with Brenda. Not with Andrew.
They needed someone to destroy.
And I was the easiest target.
The SUV pulled into the underground garage beneath a sixty-story glass tower.
My father's headquarters.
The heart of everything we'd built together.
I stepped out of the vehicle.
A security guard nodded as I passed.
"Mrs. Escalante."
"Felix."
"Your father's on the 60th floor. The whole team's assembled."
I walked to the private elevator.
The doors slid open.
Inside, the walls were wood paneled. The carpet was thick. The lighting was soft.
Everything about this building was expensive.
Everything about this building was mine.
The elevator rose.
My phone buzzed in my purse.
Andrew again.
Then Brenda.
Then Margaret.
Then Brenda again.
I ignored them all.
The doors opened onto the 60th floor.
The conference room was enormous. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the city. A long black table stretched across the space.
Twenty lawyers sat on one side.
Ten accountants on the other.
At the head of the table, my father stood.
He was a small man.
Quiet. Unassuming. The kind of person you'd walk past on the street without a second glance.
But his eyes missed nothing.
"Mariana."
He walked toward me, pulling me into a hug.
I felt the familiar comfort of his arms.
"You look tired," he said.
"Long night."
"Your face."
He gently touched my cheek.
I winced.
"Did he do this?"
"It's nothing."
My father's expression didn't change.
But something shifted behind his eyes.
Something cold.
"He's going to regret that," he said quietly.
"Where are we?"
My father led me to the table.
The lead lawyer stood and handed me a tablet.
"All 237 contracts have been reviewed. Every account has been flagged. The board of directors has been notified of the ownership structure. By 8:00 AM, Mr. Whitmore will have no access to any funds, assets, or properties connected to the Escalante holdings."
"And the mansion?"
"Transfer documents are being processed as we speak. By noon tomorrow, that property will belong to you personally."
I scrolled through the documents.
Every sale. Every investment. Every partnership.
All of it signed by me.
All of it hidden behind Andrew's name while he took credit.
"I want everything documented," I said. "Every conversation. Every threat. Every time he touched me. Every time he let his mother humiliate me. I want it all documented."
"Already done, ma'am."
"Also..." I paused.
"Also?"
"The necklace."
The lawyer looked confused.
"Andrew's mother claims I stole an emerald necklace. It's in Brenda's possession. We have cameras in that house. I want the footage pulled."
"Of course."
I set the tablet down.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then the door opened.
A woman walked in.
She was older than me. Dressed in a tailored black suit. Her hair was short and silver. Her face was kind but firm.
My best friend.
The only person who knew everything.
"Mariana," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, Rosa."
She sat down beside me.
"You don't look fine."
"I will be."
Rosa squeezed my hand.
"I heard what happened. I heard everything. I can't believe he hit you."
"Neither can I."
"Are you going to press charges?"
I thought about it.
Andrew's face flashed in my mind.
His hands gripping my arms.
His voice screaming in my ear.
The way he looked at me—like I was nothing.
"I don't know yet."
My father nodded. "You don't have to decide tonight. But the legal team is ready for whatever you choose."
I looked around the room.
Twenty lawyers. Ten accountants. My father. My best friend.
All of them here for me.
All of them ready to tear Andrew Whitmore apart.
And I felt... nothing.
No anger.
No satisfaction.
Just emptiness.
"You built an empire," I said quietly. "And I was so focused on trying to earn love from people who would never give it that I forgot how powerful I was."
"You didn't forget," Rosa said. "You chose not to use it."
"Why?"
She looked at me.
"Because you loved him."
The word hit me like a slap.
I did love him.
Even after everything.
Even after the insults. The humiliation. The cold nights spent alone while he found comfort in other women.
I loved him.
And that was the worst part.
"Love," I said slowly, "is not a good enough reason to let someone destroy you."
The room was quiet.
My father cleared his throat.
"What do you want to do next, Mariana?"
I stared at the documents in front of me.
Andrew's entire empire.
Spread out like a map of someone else's life.
"Tomorrow," I said, "I want the whole world to know what he is."
"What exactly is he?"
I looked up.
"He's a liar. A cheat. A fraud who built his reputation on someone else's work. And I want everyone to know."
May you like
My father nodded.
"Then we'll make sure they do."
