Mark turned around. The massive screen behind him wasn’t showing his sales figures. It was showing a live feed from a security camera.
The camera was positioned inside an office. Mark’s office.
On the screen, recorded footage played. It showed Mark sitting at his desk, feet up. He was on the phone.
Mark (On Screen): “Yeah, just put it on the company card. Category ‘Client Entertainment.’ Who cares? The auditors are idiots. My wife? Ha! She thinks I’m working late. She’s so gullible it’s pathetic. I could tell her the sky is green and she’d start painting the ceiling.”
The ballroom went deathly silent.
Mark turned pale. “That… that’s a deepfake! AI! Someone is sabotaging me!”
He looked down at Sterling, desperate for an ally. “Mr. Sterling! You have to stop this! Security!”
Sterling finally stopped walking. He was standing three feet in front of Elena.
Mark blinked. Why was the CEO standing in front of his frumpy wife?
“Hey!” Mark yelled at Elena. “You! Get out of the way! You’re blocking Mr. Sterling’s path! Go… go get him a drink or something!”
Jessica grabbed the microphone on the podium. “Security! Please remove that woman in the black dress! She’s ruining the aesthetic!”
Elena didn’t move. She didn’t flinch. She slowly reached up and removed the clip from her hair, letting it cascade down her shoulders. She straightened her spine, seemingly growing three inches taller. The “housewife” posture vanished, replaced by the steel-reinforced stance of a titan.
She looked at Mark. She looked at Jessica. And then, she looked at Sterling.
Sterling adjusted his tie. Then, to the collective gasp of three hundred people, he bowed. Not a nod. A deep, ninety-degree bow of absolute subservience.
“Madam Chairman,” Sterling said, his voice amplified by the silence of the room. “We await your orders.”
Mark dropped the microphone. It hit the stage with a deafening thud.
“Chair… Chairman?” Mark stammered, his brain misfiring. “Who are you talking to?”
Sterling turned slowly to look at Mark. “I am speaking to the owner of this company. The owner of this hotel. And the owner of the very stage you are standing on.”
He gestured to Elena.
“Mrs. Elena Vance.”
Elena walked toward the stage. She didn’t hurry. Her heels clicked on the marble floor like the ticking of a doomsday clock.
The crowd parted for her, eyes wide. They saw it now. The way she walked. The way she held herself. This wasn’t a guest. This was the host.
She climbed the stairs to the stage. Mark backed away, nearly tripping over Jessica.
“Elena?” Mark whispered, his voice trembling. “What is this? Is this a prank?”
Elena walked past him to the podium. She didn’t look at him. She looked out at the audience—her employees, her partners, her rivals.
“Good evening,” she said. Her voice was calm, melodic, and terrifying. “For five years, I have operated NovaStream from the shadows. I believed that leadership was about empowering others. I believed that if I lifted people up, they would rise to the occasion.”
She turned to look at Mark.
