Chapter 7 - Liam’s Hubris
By Friday afternoon, the pressure within Maya’s office had reached a boiling point.
Daniel had texted me earlier that morning with a brief update: *“HR launched a full internal audit. Someone handed the ethics committee copies of Liam’s travel receipts. Maya was called into the third-floor conference room twice today. Liam hasn't come out of his corner office.”*
I hadn't sent the messages. I hadn't needed to. In corporate environments like theirs, once a predator shows blood in the water, the rest of the sharks don't wait for permission to circle. Someone else had seized the opportunity to tear down the golden boy.
At 4:30 p.m., as I was packing up my laptop at a quiet artisan coffee shop two blocks from my firm's downtown office, a shadow fell across my table.
"Logan Vance? No, sorry. Logan… Mitchell, right?"
I looked up.
Standing over my table was a man in his late thirties, wearing a tailored charcoal suit that cost more than my first car. His hair was impeccably faded, his jawline sharp, his shoes polished to a mirror shine. But despite the immaculate grooming, there was a manic, frantic edge to his eyes.
Liam Vance.
He didn't wait for an invitation. He pulled out the industrial iron chair opposite me and sat down, leaning his forearms against the reclaimed-wood table.
"I've been looking for you," Liam said. His voice was smooth, a practiced baritone designed for boardrooms and investor pitches, but beneath the surface, it was wound tight like a spring.
I didn't move. I didn't reach for my phone. I simply leaned back against my chair and observed him.
"You found me," I said.
Liam smiled, flashing teeth that were unnervingly white. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out an expensive silver cardholder, extracted a business card, and slid it across the table toward me.
"Let's skip the posturing, Logan. We’re both reasonable, practical men. I know about the situation. Maya is… distraught. She’s making erratic decisions, missing meetings, and causing a scene that is becoming detrimental to the division's productivity."
"Is that why you're here?" I asked. "To manage productivity?"
Liam gave a quiet, patronizing chuckle. "I'm here to fix a problem before it spills out of bounds. Look, I understand you're hurt. Any man would be. Maya is an exceptional woman—beautiful, driven, passionate. But things happen in high-pressure environments. Late nights, heavy travel, high stakes… lines get blurred. It’s the nature of the game."
"Is sleeping with your subordinates part of the company handbook, Liam?"
His smile vanished instantly. His eyes narrowed into cold, calculating slits.
"Watch your mouth, kid," he said softly, leaning closer. "I came here out of professional courtesy to offer you an olive branch. You’re hurting, you’re angry, and you’re holding onto digital files that don't belong to you. Personal communications between employees on company-monitored channels are proprietary property."
"Is that legal advice?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Because last I checked, Maya synced her personal iPad to my personal iCloud account using our shared domestic home network. Nothing about that is proprietary to your firm."
A tiny muscle in Liam’s jaw twitched. The boardroom composure was fracturing, revealing the panicked, self-serving narcissist underneath.
"Name your price," Liam said bluntly.
I looked at him, surprised. "My price?"
"To delete the drive. To sign a nondisclosure agreement stating you will not contact corporate compliance, you will not post anything online, and you will not reach out to my family." He reached into his coat again, pulling out a slim checkbook. "Ten thousand? Twenty? You’re a project coordinator, Logan. Twenty grand is a substantial cushion for an apartment deposit and a clean start. Take the win. Walk away. Let Maya move on, and let me handle the corporate side."
I stared at the checkbook on the table.
For a brief second, I felt a flash of pure disgust. This man truly believed that everything in the world had a barcode. Loyalty, trust, love, dignity—to him, they were just line items waiting to be negotiated down to an acceptable margin.
And Maya had thrown away three years of genuine devotion for *this*.
"You really don't get it, do you?" I said, shaking my head with a faint smile.
"Get what?" Liam demanded, his voice tightening.
"I don't want your money, Liam."
"Everyone wants money, Logan. Don't be an idiot—"
"I don't need your money," I repeated, leaning forward until our faces were inches apart. "And I don't need to destroy you, either. Because you’ve already done it yourself."
Liam froze.
"Daniel told me about the VIP cabin," I said softly, watching his pupils dilate with terror. "And Daniel mentioned that the company ethics board is currently auditing your travel expenses from the Blue Ridge retreat. Tell me, Liam… did you bill that private cabin to the regional marketing budget? Or did you file it under client entertainment?"
The color drained from Liam Vance's face so rapidly it looked like someone had pulled a drain plug. The slick, arrogant executive vanished, replaced by a terrified man who suddenly realized he was standing on a trapdoor with a noose around his neck.
"You don't know what you're talking about," he choked out.
"Misappropriation of corporate funds is a felony, Liam," I said, zipping up my laptop bag and standing up from the table. "And in the corporate world, they don't fire you for sleeping with an associate. They fire you for stealing from the shareholders to do it."
I picked up my bag, leaving his business card untouched on the table.
"Keep your money, Mr. Vance," I said, looking down at him. "You’re going to need it for legal counsel."
May you like
I turned and walked out into the cool evening air, leaving him sitting alone at the table, clutching an empty checkbook and staring into the abyss of his own undoing.
***
