The Chairman’s Ultimatum Disgraced Surgeon’s Second Life

Exes? Or Strangers

The silence was so deafening, their reactions were way better than Adrian had imagined. He almost burst out laughing.

He didn't think it'd feel this satisfying to see em all like this after so long.

William Monroe, Adrian’s former father-in-law, was the first to find his voice, a reedy, choked noise. “Adrian? No, this… this isn’t possible. You lost everything. You haven’t got the capital for this. Robert, what is this man doing here? Call security.”

Robert, who had been scrambling for an explanation, only stammered, “The counsel confirmed it, Father. ColeTech Global Holdings… it’s his.”

Adrian’s gaze finally settled on Lilian.

She was still sitting, frozen in place at the long mahogany table, her pale gray suit contrasting sharply with her face, which was now the color of old plaster.

The composure she cultivated so meticulously had shattered completely, revealing the fear beneath.

She pushed back her chair and stood, trying to inject some of her stupid, old authority into the moment. She walked toward him, her hand tentatively lifting as if to bridge the gap between them.

“Adrian,” she began in a low, pleading voice that was meant to be intimate. Perhaps a shared secret between them. “What kind of game is this? You need to talk to us. We can fix this. You know the hospital structure; you know the patients. We can find a way to work together, maybe a temporary consulting position until you get back on your feet.”

He watched her approach, and it was like watching a clumsy actor perform a bad scene. Every word felt rehearsed, every gesture was so horribly false.

The familiarity of her perfume, the way she held her shoulders like she always used to—it all scraped against the  hard edges of his heart.

He didn't move an inch. He just let her walk right into the wall he’d erected over three years.

“It’s Chairman Cole, Lilian,” Adrian corrected, his voice flat, emotionless, and loud enough to echo slightly in the cavernous boardroom. He didn’t use her name as a term of endearment or recognition; he used it as punctuation, a reminder of their current distance. “I think you’ll find that Adrian is no longer taking meetings. And I certainly don’t need to be brought ‘back on my feet.’ I’m standing on the neck of the corporation that employs you.”

The correction hit her like a slap. Her hand dropped slowly, her face reddening with humiliation.

“This is beneath you,” Lilian insisted, her tone shifting to indignation. “This stunt, this whole stupid theater—it doesn’t erase what happened. You can buy the whole city, but you’ll still be the man who lost his license over negligence.”

And there it was. Her true colors.

Adrian let his eyes show a flicker of pure distain. He stepped closer, forcing her to look up into his cold, dark eyes.

“Negligence?” he repeated softly. “Tell me, Lilian, do you remember the exact words you used in court that day? The ones that cemented my ruin?”

Lilian looked away, her jaw clenching. She knew the line. It haunted her own peace, the words she’d used to save herself.

“I said you were under stress,” she mumbled.

“No, you didn’t just say that,” Adrian countered. His voice remained quiet, but it held the tensile strength of steel. “You told the court I sometimes seemed ‘reckless.’ Reckless, Lilian. A doctor who is reckless is a killer with a scalpel. You stood under oath and painted me as unstable, knowing full well that your uncle Robert’s department head signed off on faulty perfusion maintenance to cut costs, the same fault that killed Mr. Harrison.”

_She lied to save the Monroe name. She didn’t even hesitate. She didn’t mourn the loss of me, she mourned the loss of her elevated social status. The fact that she can stand here now and try to negotiate a ‘consulting position’ proves she hasn’t changed a bit._

William Monroe interrupted, trying to inject some of his old bluster. “Adrian, that is slander! We protected the family. We even offered you a generous settlement.”

“A settlement that amounted to half the value of Lilian’s jewelry collection,” Adrian sneered, turning his attention to William. “You didn’t protect the family, William. You protected your reputation from what you thought was a fire. What you didn’t realize is that you threw kerosene on what was going to be the only thing that could save you.”

He then addressed the entire room, his voice taking on the commanding rhythm of a CEO, not a disgraced former employee.

“Let’s be clear. This is not a negotiating table. This is the office of my new acquisition. I am not here to discuss my past, or yours. I am here to execute a corporate mandate.”

He took a remote from Eric, who had stood silently by, and clicked a button. The large display screen at the end of the boardroom flashed, replacing a static corporate logo with a single slide: Immediate Restructuring Plan: Phase I.

“Effective immediately,” Adrian announced, surveying the horrified faces of the board, “Apollo Medical Group is dissolved and will be absorbed into ColeTech Global. Robert Monroe, you are relieved of your duties as CEO. Your severance package will be deposited by midnight. You may leave your company phone and keycard with my assistant on the way out.”

Robert looked physically ill, clutching the edge of the table. “You can’t just fire me! I have contracts!”

“We bought your contracts,” Adrian corrected, his tone bored. “And I’m invoking the corporate malfeasance clause related to the recent SEC investigation into the new wing financing. You should have read the fine print of the takeover bid.”

He didn't wait for a response before his eyes snapped back to Lilian. She was visibly shaking now, her control completely gone.

“As for Dr. Lilian Monroe,” Adrian continued, pointing to her name on the screen, which suddenly appeared next to the title Director of Community Outreach.

Lilian stared at the screen, her mouth slightly open. “Outreach? That’s not a clinical role! I’m the Chief of Emergency Medicine! I manage a hundred doctors!”

“Not anymore. That position requires someone with focused leadership and a proven capacity for loyalty and operational stability,” Adrian said, laying the emphasis on those words like they were accusations. “You now report to the Director of Public Relations. Your job is to host luncheons and make the hospital look good to the community. You are officially demoted.”

Lilian finally lost it. “You’re doing this to hurt me! This is vindictive!”

“Of course it is vindictive,” Adrian agreed, a muscle in his cheek twitching slightly. The mask of indifference slipped for just a second, revealing the years of pain beneath. “Did you think I spent three years building an entire, multi-billion dollar conglomerate just to forget you? Every contract I signed, every sleepless night I spent learning finance, every single penny I raised was dedicated to buying this moment, Lilian. You betrayed me. Now you work for me. That’s not vindictive, that’s just balance. Some call it karma. So yeah, wear whatever shoe fits.”

He walked around the table, the new king surveying his broken subjects. He stopped right in front of Lilian, standing so close she had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. She could smell the expensive wool of his suit, the clean, crisp scent of a man who no longer had to rush to change out of scrubs.

“You, Lilian, are an operational disaster waiting to happen. The old Adrian loved you, and that made him weak. The new Adrian sees you as a liability on a balance sheet. And I don’t keep liabilities around. Oh, believe me, I don't.”

Eric placed a slim, matte black folder on the table between them.

Adrian slid the document across the polished mahogany, pushing it with one finger until it stopped right under Lilian’s trembling hand.

“Open it,” he commanded.

She pulled the folder open, her eyes darting across the typewritten page. It was a one-page employment contract. It outlined her new role, her drastically reduced salary, and a probationary period.

A probationary period. God, she was close to losing her mind.

Adrian leaned in, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper meant only for her. “I kept you here for one reason: I need to ensure the Monroes have a front-row seat to the collapse of their dynasty. But I won’t tolerate incompetence. I want an assessment report on community resource allocation and funding gaps on my desk in two weeks. It needs to be flawless, actionable, and innovative.”

He straightened up, his eyes now completely cold, the emotion gone again, replaced by the flat glass of a predator.

“You have two weeks to prove you deserve to stay. I wouldn't fail if I were you.”