Chapter 4 The Ultimate Employer Appears

Chapter 4: The Ultimate Employer Appears

Resignation letters are tricky things. Most people write them with a mixture of relief and anxiety—the freedom of leaving tempered by uncertainty about what comes next. Mine was different. I wrote it with the calm precision of someone who had never intended to stay.

"Gentlemen," it read. "Please accept my formal resignation, effective immediately. The evidence of your collective criminal activities has been secured. Do not attempt to contact me. Regards, Maxine Chasey."

I left it propped against the espresso machine—Shane's precious Italian model that cost more than a small car. Then I packed my meager belongings, careful to leave behind all the "gifts" they had given me during my employment: the uniforms, the cheap cell phone they monitored, the electronic key card with its hidden tracking chip.

What I did take: three USB drives containing their secrets, the burner phone with my sister's encrypted messages, and the small velvet pouch containing the only photograph I had of my father before prison aged him twenty years in five.

I was halfway to the service elevator when Malcolm's voice stopped me.

"Running away so soon?" he called from the penthouse landing, still in his silk pajamas despite it being nearly noon. His eyes were bloodshot—he'd been drinking since our confrontation last night.

"My resignation letter explains everything," I replied coolly.

He descended the stairs with the practiced grace of someone who knew cameras were always watching. "Shane's having it analyzed for fingerprints. Freddie's calling your parole officer." His smile was venomous. "Did you really think we'd just let you walk away?"

I checked my watch. "Actually, yes. In approximately three minutes."

Malcolm laughed. "You know what I loved about you, Max? Your delusions of grandeur. Always thinking you were smarter than everyone else."

"Not everyone," I corrected him. "Just you three."

His smile faltered. "You have nothing. Whatever you think you stole, we've already contained. The emails are scrubbed, the accounts moved, the witnesses paid off."

I placed my bag on the floor and pulled out my phone, showing him the screen: a live security feed of the penthouse lobby. A sleek town car had just pulled up outside. The driver was helping a woman exit—tall, elegant, unmistakable.

Malcolm's face went slack. "Is that...?"

"Ainsley Bates," I confirmed. "CEO of Bates Industries. Your largest competitor and, as of nine a.m. this morning, the new majority shareholder of the Donovan-Townsend-Henderson Group."

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The elevator doors opened with a soft chime.

"Right on time," I said, picking up my bag. "She's very punctual. Unlike you, who was always fashionably late to our dates."

Malcolm grabbed my arm. "Whatever she's paying you, I'll double it."

I removed his hand like I was disposing of something unpleasant. "This was never about money, Malcolm. It was about justice."

---

The lobby of the DTH Tower was all gleaming marble and steel—a monument to the egos of the three men who had built their success on the ruins of my family's legacy. I watched through the security feed on my phone as Shane and Freddie rushed down to intercept Ainsley, who was now being escorted through the security checkpoint by no less than four personal assistants and two security guards.

I took the service elevator to the underground parking garage, where I knew I'd find Ainsley's private entrance. Sure enough, her head of security was waiting by the executive elevator.

"Ms. Chasey," he nodded, recognizing me from our briefings. "Ms. Bates is expecting you upstairs."

"Thank you, James," I replied. "Everything on schedule?"

"Down to the second," he confirmed, handing me an earpiece. "You'll want this for what comes next."

I slipped it in just as the elevator began its ascent, connecting me to Ainsley's communications network. Her voice came through immediately, cool and commanding.

"Shane Donovan," she was saying, "your hospitality is unnecessary. I'm not here for pleasantries."

"Ms. Bates," Shane's voice oozed artificial charm, "this unexpected visit is quite a surprise. Had I known—"

"You'd have had time to hide more evidence?" Ainsley cut in. "I think you've done enough of that over the years."

The elevator opened directly into the penthouse conference room, where I had a perfect view of the scene: Ainsley standing at the head of the table, resplendent in a white power suit that made her look like an avenging angel. Shane and Freddie flanked either side of her, their body language screaming discomfort. Malcolm entered from the side door, his earlier dishevelment miraculously transformed into casual elegance.

None of them noticed me.

"Gentlemen," Ainsley was saying, "let's dispense with the pretense. I've acquired controlling interest in your company because it's been systematically undervalued due to your collective mismanagement and criminal activities."

"Criminal?" Freddie adjusted his glasses nervously. "That's a serious accusation, Ms. Bates."

"One I'm prepared to substantiate in court," she replied, nodding to an assistant who began distributing folders to each man. "Inside you'll find copies of evidence being simultaneously delivered to the SEC, the FBI, and the district attorney's office."

Shane didn't even open his folder. "Whatever you think you have—"

"Tax evasion," Ainsley interrupted. "Securities fraud. Witness tampering. Evidence planting. And my personal favorite—conspiracy to frame Harrison Chasey for embezzlement to cover your own financial crimes."

The silence that followed was profound. I stepped forward then, into their line of sight.

"Hello, boys," I said softly. "Miss me?"

Their reactions were everything I'd hoped for: Shane's face contorted with rage, Malcolm's eyes widened in theatrical shock, and Freddie nearly dropped his glasses.

"You," Shane snarled. "You're working for her?"

Ainsley's perfect red lips curved into a smile. "Actually, I'm working for her."

The confusion on their faces would have been comical if the stakes weren't so high.

"Gentlemen," I said, moving to stand beside Ainsley, "meet my new employer. The only person who believed in my father's innocence. The only executive who refused to join your little conspiracy five years ago."

"We've been building this case since the day Harrison Chasey went to prison," Ainsley added. "You just made it infinitely easier by hiring his daughter to spy on you."

Malcolm recovered first, his actor's training kicking in. He leaned against the conference table with practiced nonchalance. "Fascinating plot twist. But what exactly do you want? Money? Public apologies? Our heads on spikes?"

Ainsley opened her designer briefcase and removed a single USB drive. "What I want is very simple. Your resignations, your cooperation with the authorities, and your public admission of guilt."

"Or?" Shane challenged.

"Or this drive goes to every news outlet in the country," I replied. "Along with my exclusive tell-all about how three of the most powerful men in America hired their ex-girlfriend as a maid after framing her father for their crimes."

Freddie, ever the academic, seemed genuinely curious. "Why go through all this elaborate deception? You could have gone to the authorities directly."

"With what evidence?" I countered. "Everything was buried, witnesses were paid off, documents were destroyed. We needed new evidence—evidence you couldn't dispute."

"And you three obligingly created plenty during Ms. Chasey's employment," Ainsley added.

Shane's face had turned an alarming shade of red. "This is blackmail."

"No," Ainsley corrected him. "This is justice. Blackmail would be threatening to reveal your secrets for personal gain. We're simply ensuring the truth comes to light."

"We're not signing anything," Shane declared, looking to his partners for support.

Malcolm shrugged elegantly. "Speak for yourself. I know when I'm beaten."

"This is insane," Freddie protested. "You can't possibly expect us to—"

"Actually," I interrupted, "we've already spoken to your board members. They're waiting for your resignations before announcing the company's new direction under Bates Industries' guidance."

"You've thought of everything," Malcolm observed, something like admiration in his voice.

"Not everything," I admitted. "I never expected all three of you to hire me. That was... serendipitous."

Shane slammed his fist on the table. "I won't be strong-armed by a pair of—"

"Careful," Ainsley warned. "Your next words might feature prominently in your criminal trial."

I stepped forward, placing my hands on the conference table. "It's over, gentlemen. The only question remaining is how much dignity you retain in the process."

After a tense silence, Freddie spoke up. "What happens to the university? My students?"

"The truth happens," I replied. "But your cooperation now could mitigate the damage."

Another long moment passed before Malcolm asked, "What about the documentary crew outside?"

"What documentary crew?" Shane demanded.

On cue, Ainsley's assistant opened the blinds to reveal a full film crew on the adjacent rooftop terrace, cameras trained on the conference room's glass walls.

"Did I forget to mention?" Ainsley smiled. "We're filming a documentary about corporate fraud. You're the stars."

---

Three hours later, after lawyers had been called and papers signed, I found myself alone with Ainsley in what had been Shane's office. She poured two glasses of his ridiculously expensive scotch and handed one to me.

"To phase four," she toasted. "Perfectly executed."

I clinked my glass against hers. "I couldn't have done it without you."

"Of course you couldn't," she agreed with a smile. "But your performance was... impressive."

"High praise from Ainsley Bates."

She studied me over the rim of her glass. "Are you satisfied? They've lost everything—their company, their reputations, likely their freedom once the trials begin."

I considered the question seriously. "Not yet. There's still the matter of my father's exoneration."

"Already in progress," she assured me. "My legal team filed the appeal this morning, with all the new evidence attached."

I nodded, feeling the weight of five years of planning finally beginning to lift. "Then there's only one thing left."

"What's that?"

I reached into my bag and pulled out three USB drives. "Proof of Shane's corporate espionage against NeuraTech. Malcolm's complete plastic surgery history and the contracts prohibiting him from discussing it. And Freddie's academic fraud spanning his entire career."

Ainsley took the drives, her perfectly manicured fingers closing around them. "Insurance?"

"Payment," I corrected. "You said you wanted something in return."

Her expression softened slightly—the most vulnerability I'd ever seen her show. "After all this time, you still don't trust me?"

"I trust you more than anyone," I replied honestly. "But a deal's a deal."

She slipped the drives into her pocket without examining them. "Your loyalty is your most admirable trait, Maxine."

"My only admirable trait, according to my ex-boyfriends."

Ainsley laughed—a rare, genuine sound. "They never deserved you."

An assistant knocked discreetly before entering. "Ms. Bates, the press is assembled downstairs."

"Thank you, Claudia. We'll be right down." When we were alone again, Ainsley gave me a questioning look. "Ready for your public debut as my new Chief Security Officer?"

I smoothed down my simple black dress—so different from the maid's uniform I'd worn for months. "What if they recognize me? The reporters were all over my father's case."

"Let them," Ainsley said confidently. "It only improves our narrative. The wronged daughter who helped bring down her father's accusers."

She was right, of course. Ainsley was always right—calculating, precise, ruthless when necessary. It's why I'd approached her with my plan five years ago, when everyone else had abandoned us.

As we headed for the elevator, Ainsley suddenly stopped. "There's one more thing."

She reached up and brushed her fingers against my collarbone, just below where my blouse covered the tattoo. The small, intricate design that had taken eight painful hours to complete—a data matrix code disguised as an artistic pattern.

"Is it all here?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. "Everything we discussed. Encoded and permanent. Not even torture could make me reveal it."

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she replied, her fingers lingering on my skin a moment longer than necessary.

The elevator arrived with a soft chime, breaking the moment. As we stepped inside, I caught our reflection in the mirrored walls: Ainsley tall and commanding in white, me slightly shorter but equally determined in black. Different in style but united in purpose.

"By the way," she said as the doors closed, "I've arranged a little surprise for tomorrow."

"What kind of surprise?"

Her smile was enigmatic. "A family reunion of sorts. I think it's time you saw the childhood photo of our three fallen titans."

"You found it?" I couldn't hide my surprise.

"I told you I would." The elevator began its descent. "And Maxine? It's going to change everything you thought you knew about this case."

I felt a chill despite the warmth of the elevator. "What do you mean?"

But Ainsley just smiled, her eyes fixed on the descending floor numbers. "All in good time, sister. All in good time."

The word hung between us, unacknowledged until now. Sister. Not by blood, but by something deeper—by shared purpose, shared pain, shared vengeance.

As the elevator reached the lobby and the doors opened to reveal a sea of flashing cameras, Ainsley whispered, "Remember who you are now. Not their servant. Not their victim. Their executioner."

I stepped forward into the light, ready for the next phase of our revenge.