Chapter 2 — The Four Percent Man
Chapter 2 — The Four Percent Man
Andrew Escalante had spent twelve years believing he was untouchable.
By noon, he couldn't authorize a lunch.
The first thing he discovered was that his corporate card had stopped working.
The second was that his private banking access had been suspended.
The third was that his executive assistant had received a notice instructing her to route all of his requests through the interim board.
The fourth was the one that finally broke him.
His office door no longer opened with his fingerprint.
He stood outside it, staring at the red light.
“No.”
He pressed his thumb against the scanner again.
Red.
Again.
Red.
His assistant stood several feet away, pretending not to watch.
Andrew turned toward her.
“Call security.”
She swallowed.
“They already know.”
“Then call the chairman.”
“You're not the chairman anymore.”
His eyes narrowed.
“Who told you that?”
“The board.”
“Which board?”
She hesitated.
“The board that controls the company.”
Andrew stared at her.
For four years, everyone had watched him walk through these offices as though the building belonged to him.
Employees stood when he entered a room.
Executives laughed at jokes that weren't funny.
Investors shook his hand.
Journalists called him a visionary.
He had believed every second of it.
Now his own receptionist wouldn't meet his eyes.
He turned away.
“Where is Mariana?”
The assistant answered quietly.
“Executive conference room.”
“With whom?”
“Everyone.”
Andrew's jaw tightened.
“Get me in there.”
She didn't move.
“Andrew…”
“What?”
“I don't think they want you inside.”
He stared at her.
Then laughed.
A short, bitter sound.
“They'll want me when they realize they can't run this company without me.”
The assistant said nothing.
Because she already knew what Andrew didn't.
They could.
And they would.
Inside the executive conference room, I watched the live security feed.
Andrew stood outside his old office.
My father sat beside me.
“He looks angry,” Victor said.
“He always looks angry when he isn't in control.”
My father smiled.
“Your mother used to say the same thing about me.”
I looked at him.
“Were you like that?”
“No.”
“You're sure?”
“I was worse.”
I laughed for the first time since leaving the mansion.
The room relaxed slightly.
Jonathan Reed placed a folder in front of me.
“There's something else.”
“Another problem?”
“Potentially.”
I opened it.
The title read:
ESCALANTE FAMILY PRIVATE ASSETS — CONTROL DISPUTE
I frowned.
“What is this?”
“Andrew has been treating several assets as personal property.”
“Which assets?”
“Three homes. Two aircraft. Six vehicles. Four investment accounts.”
I looked at the list.
“Those are mine.”
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“Approximately eighty-six million.”
I closed the folder.
“Freeze them.”
Jonathan nodded.
“Already initiated.”
My father looked at me.
“You're moving quickly.”
“I've spent four years moving slowly.”
He said nothing.
That was true.
I had spent years waiting.
Waiting for Andrew to appreciate me.
Waiting for Margaret to accept me.
Waiting for Brenda to leave.
Waiting for the family to treat me like a wife instead of an employee.
Waiting for an apology that never came.
I was done waiting.
At 1:15 p.m., Andrew finally forced his way into the conference room.
Two security officers followed him.
He looked furious.
“Get them out.”
I looked at the officers.
“Leave.”
They did.
Andrew shut the door.
“You think this is funny?”
“No.”
“You've embarrassed me.”
I stared at him.
“You slapped me in front of thirty people.”
His face tightened.
“I apologized.”
“You apologized after your bank called you.”
“That isn't fair.”
I almost laughed.
“Fair?”
He stepped closer.
“Mariana, whatever you think you're doing, stop.”
“No.”
“You don't understand what you've started.”
“I understand perfectly.”
“You're destroying my company.”
I corrected him.
“I'm restructuring my company.”
He froze.
“Your?”
I nodded.
“You heard me.”
“This is Escalante Holdings.”
“The name is.”
I opened a file.
“The capital isn't.”
He looked at the documents.
“You're lying.”
“Read page twelve.”
He did.
His face changed.
“Page eighteen.”
He turned it.
“Page twenty-seven.”
He stopped.
“What is this?”
“Your ownership.”
He stared at the number.
“Four percent.”
I nodded.
“That is your current voting interest.”
He laughed.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Impossible.”
“It's been that way since before our wedding.”
He looked at me.
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“You knew all this time?”
“Yes.”
“And you let me run the company?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
That question was almost painful.
Because I had loved him.
Because I had wanted him to succeed.
Because I wanted our marriage to feel real.
Because I had been foolish enough to believe that if I gave him the opportunity to build something, he would eventually see me as his equal.
Instead, he saw my silence as weakness.
“I wanted you to believe you had built something.”
He stared at me.
“That doesn't make sense.”
“It does to me.”
I closed the file.
“I didn't want to marry a man who depended on my family.”
“So you hid it?”
“I wanted to know whether you could succeed without knowing.”
“And?”
I looked at him.
“You couldn't.”
His face hardened.
“You're arrogant.”
“No.”
I stood.
“I was patient.”
Andrew paced across the room.
“What happens now?”
“You keep your four percent.”
His head snapped toward me.
“That's it?”
“No.”
“You're taking everything else?”
“Everything that belongs to me.”
“You can't.”
“I can.”
“You'll destroy the company.”
“No.”
I walked toward the window.
“I'll save it from you.”
He stared at me.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you're no longer CEO.”
His face turned red.
“You can't fire me.”
“I already did.”
He slammed his hand against the table.
“You think money makes you powerful?”
“No.”
I turned toward him.
“Knowledge does.”
Silence.
“You didn't know who I was.”
He looked away.
“You didn't know what you signed.”
I continued.
“You didn't know what you owned.”
I stepped closer.
“And you certainly didn't know what you were losing.”
At 3:00 p.m., the board voted.
Nine in favor.
One against.
The chairman's gavel fell.
Andrew Escalante was officially removed as CEO.
He retained his four percent stake.
Nothing more.
The news spread within minutes.
ANDREW ESCALANTE REMOVED FROM COMPANY HE CLAIMED TO OWN.
MYSTERY MAJORITY OWNER REVEALED AS MARIANA VALE.
For the first time, my name appeared beside his in every financial publication.
Not as his wife.
As the controlling owner.
My phone exploded.
Reporters.
Investors.
Business partners.
Old friends.
People I hadn't heard from in years suddenly remembered my number.
I ignored them all.
Then one message appeared.
From Brenda.
We need to talk.
I stared at it.
Then another.
I know what Andrew did.
Another.
And I know what Margaret did.
I didn't answer.
A final message arrived.
If you want the truth about your marriage, meet me tonight. Alone.
I looked at the screen for a long time.
My father noticed.
“Brenda?”
“Yes.”
“Don't go.”
“I wasn't planning to.”
“Good.”
I locked the phone.
Then it buzzed again.
This time, the message wasn't from Brenda.
It was from an unknown number.
Your husband isn't the person you should be afraid of.
I stared at it.
A second message arrived.
Ask your father what happened twelve years ago.
My blood went cold.
I looked at my father.
He had seen my expression.
“What is it?”
I turned the phone toward him.
He read the messages.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then his face changed.
Not fear.
Something worse.
Recognition.
“You know who sent this.”
He looked at me.
“Yes.”
“Who?”
My father didn't answer.
“Dad.”
He walked toward the window.
“Twelve years ago,” he said quietly, “Andrew wasn't the first person who tried to get close to you.”
I stared at him.
“What are you talking about?”
He turned around.
“There was someone else.”
“Who?”
My father looked toward the closed conference-room door.
“Someone who disappeared before you ever met Andrew.”
My heart began beating faster.
“Why?”
“Because I made sure he disappeared.”
I couldn't speak.
“Who was he?”
My father closed his eyes.
Then said the name I had never heard before.
“Julian Cross.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“Who is Julian Cross?”
My father's expression hardened.
“The man who nearly destroyed my company.”
I waited.
“And the man who may have taught Andrew everything he knows.”
That night, I returned to my father's private office.
The city glittered below us.
I stood beside the bookshelf.
“Tell me everything.”
My father poured himself a drink.
“You're not going to like it.”
“I stopped caring about that.”
He nodded.
“Twelve years ago, Vale International discovered that someone was attempting to acquire controlling interests in several of our subsidiaries.”
“Andrew?”
“No.”
“Julian?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“He wanted access to our investment network.”
“For what?”
My father looked at me.
“To build an empire.”
I frowned.
“And what does that have to do with Andrew?”
“Andrew worked for him.”
I froze.
“What?”
“Not publicly.”
My father opened an old file.
Inside was a photograph.
Andrew.
Younger.
Standing beside a man I'd never seen.
Julian Cross.
I stared at the photograph.
“When was this taken?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“Where?”
“London.”
I looked at Andrew's younger face.
He was smiling.
Confident.
Ambitious.
And standing beside a man my father had apparently feared enough to erase from his life.
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because I thought Julian was gone.”
“Was he?”
My father shook his head.
“No.”
“Then where is he?”
My father looked directly at me.
“We don't know.”
A cold sensation moved through my chest.
Then my phone vibrated.
I looked at the screen.
Another message from the unknown number.
Now you know his name.
A second message appeared.
Tomorrow, you'll learn why Andrew married you.
I looked up at my father.
“Dad…”
He didn't answer.
Because he was already staring at the message.
And for the first time since I had activated the protection clause, I realized something terrifying.
Maybe Andrew Escalante had never been the mastermind.
Maybe he had only been the man standing in front of me.
A man with four percent of an empire.
A man who believed he owned everything.
A man who had spent four years humiliating me.
But behind him…
someone else might have been watching.
Someone who had known my name long before Andrew ever called me his wife.
I looked at the photograph again.
Julian Cross.
Andrew.
Twelve years ago.
My father had said he was gone.
May you like
But the message on my phone suggested otherwise.
And somewhere in the city, someone knew exactly what would happen next.
