Chapter 3
805 Words
The next day, the Westbridge Chamber of Commerce called my father. Martin had taken the matter to the chamber president, and the organization was reconsidering its partnership with Sterling Group.
The Legal Department's report was painfully clear. Security cameras had captured the entire incident in the executive reception area. If Martin chose to press assault charges, Isabella would be in serious legal trouble. If the footage became public, the damage to the Group's reputation would be severe.
My father flew into a rage in his office.
Dominic sat on the sofa with one leg crossed over the other, looking completely unconcerned. He claimed those old-guard chamber connections were on their way out and that his vision and network were Sterling Group's real future.
The last trace of warmth vanished from my father's eyes.
That evening, Graham came quietly to my apartment.
"Ms. Sterling, Chairman Sterling would like you to return to the Sterling residence."
I changed into a simple, muted outfit and drove home.
My father looked as though he had aged 10 years in a single day. He leaned back in a leather chair, slowly turning an old brass company seal engraved with the Sterling Group crest between his fingers.
"Camille, what do you really think about the incident today?"
I sat in the armchair across from him and chose my words carefully.
"Dominic's choices aren't mine to judge."
"It's just the two of us. Tell me the truth."
I drew a breath and lifted my head.
"No one can question Dominic's ability or vision, but he's too arrogant. For Ms. Crane, he's pushing away partners who have worked with us for 20 years. Sterling Group didn't get where it is through strategy and connections alone. It was built on trust earned over decades. Once that trust is broken, even the best strategy is worthless."
My father studied me for a long time.
Then he opened a drawer, took out a dark gray metal lockbox, and pushed it across the desk.
"Take this. Don't open it unless you have no other choice."
I accepted it with both hands. The cold metal pressed against my fingertips, and my heartbeat thundered in my ears.
'Whatever is inside, it matters.'
I lowered my head and forced down the rush of emotion.
Once I had the lockbox, I felt like a different person. I walked with a new spring in my step.
Sterling Group's Global Investor Summit was scheduled for November, followed immediately by Sterling Group's 40th Anniversary Gala. It was the biggest event of the year, drawing investors, media outlets, and government officials.
My father's health had declined, so Dominic had been assigned the keynote address and the major announcements. The Brand Strategy Department had spent 2 months preparing every detail, from lighting and sound to guest invitations and the global livestream.
Then, on the night before the summit, disaster struck.
Isabella was scrolling on her phone at a hotel when she saw people online calling her a scheming gold digger. She broke down and demanded that Dominic come immediately, threatening to jump from the balcony if he refused.
The hotel was at Seabrook Resort, about 125 miles away.
Dominic actually went. He abandoned more than 100 Brand Strategy employees and the rehearsal scheduled for the next morning, then raced down the highway in the middle of the night.
By the following morning, the 2,000-seat main hall was full. More than 30 international media outlets had set up their cameras, and more than 1 million viewers had registered for the livestream.
The summit was supposed to begin at 9:00 a.m. The keynote speaker's seat remained empty.
At 9:30, it was still empty.
The staff played Dominic's prerecorded opening video. When it ended, the screen went black. Murmurs swept through the hall. Investors and financial journalists in the front rows exchanged uneasy glances, while the longtime shareholders shifted anxiously in their seats.
I sat at the far end of the front row in a navy business suit. My face remained perfectly calm, but inside, I was practically setting off fireworks.
'Dominic, you're destroying yourself, and you don't even see it.'
Graham hurried in through a side door, sweat covering his forehead. He bent down and showed me his phone.
A message from my father filled the screen.
Richard Sterling: Tell Camille to go up.
Amid the rising noise, I stood, buttoned my jacket, stepped into the aisle, and walked onto the stage in my heels.
The spotlight blazed down on me, bright enough to make me squint, but I held my expression steady.
I stopped at center stage and looked out at more than 2,000 faces. A smile tugged at my lips.
"Good morning, everyone. Thank you for your patience. I'll be delivering today's keynote address."
The hall went silent for a beat, then erupted in shocked whispers.
- Writer
