The Husband They Threw Away Runs This Town Now

Chapter 5: The Conqueror

Erick kept the board members in the room. No one dared stand up while he slowly reviewed the financial documents in front of him.

At the head of the table, Erick casually unwrapped a $3 egg and cheese sandwich from the corner store, his worn jacket sleeves brushing the mahogany.

He took slow bites, watching them squirm. 

Erick looked at Marcus. “The two-hundred-million-dollar emergency facility to Laurent Corp. Approve or kill it?”

Marcus froze mid-breath. "Q-Quade... market stability-wise... The Laurent Group holds major city infrastructure contracts. If they …"

"They're parasitic thieves," Erick corrected flatly. 

Before the trembling billionaire could stammer a reply, the heavy doors opened. Aria entered with an encrypted satellite phone.

"Chairman," she said, voice perfectly cold. "Congressman Clarke has been calling all day,” Aria said. “He knows someone hit the FBI backdoor through GD Tech. He’s panicking.

"Tell the Congressman I'm unavailable," Erick said, sipping tap water from a paper cup. "He can wait. Future Secretaries should learn patience."

The board didn’t say a word. 

Michel Laurent's foolish $200 million heist not only put his family at risk but also provided Erick with a significant advantage over the U.S. government. The Laurents wouldn't go bankrupt overnight (too many physical assets), but their prestige? Credit? Freedom? Erick would reduce their legacy to a joke.

Then his cracked $50 smartphone vibrated violently.

The board jumped at the sharp buzz. Erick pulled it out, saw Dominique's caller ID flashing. He answered and placed it face-up on the table.

"Erick, where are you?" Dominique's voice sliced through the silence—sharp, toxic, disgusted. "I've called thirty times."

No one dared to make a move.

"A bit busy, Dominique," Erick answered calmly.

He scanned the pale, sweating faces of New York's financial elite. "At the pound."

Someone choked on silence. Erick raised one finger. Marcus sealed his lips.

"The pound?" Dominique sneered, oblivious. "Figures. Listen—Vanessa's divorce party is tonight at Horizon Lounge. Be there by 8 sharp. Wear something that doesn’t embarrass me."

"I'll see what's clean," Erick muttered.

"There's a pre-gala meeting with the inner circle," she snapped. "And Erick? Martin's father pulled DoD strings. He'll attend despite your little stunt. The first thing you do is kneel and apologize. Understood?"

Erick stared at the satellite phone where a future Secretary of State begged for attention, then back at his wife's call.

"Martin will get what he deserves tonight."

"Good. Don't be late." The line died.

Erick pocketed the phone and leaned back in his leather chair. A dark smile returned as he watched the board tremble.

The wall clock read 4 PM. Four hours until Dominique's party.

"Gentlemen," Erick said, voice dropping to annihilation-level calm. "It's 4 PM. You have until 1 AM to unanimously vote down Victor's bailout and revoke his shares. Any hesitation, any 'no' votes... you're not just fired. 

“By tomorrow, your accounts are frozen. Assets seized. Investigations begin for crimes you didn’t commit.”

He paused.

“And your names become examples.”

He paused, letting that sink in before leaning forward with lethal eye contact.

"So choose carefully before midnight," Erick whispered dangerously. "Who wants to see what happens to your wealth when I flip the switch?"

When he didn’t hear another word, he stood up. The chair scraped loudly against the marble floor.

Erick walked toward the door. Before leaving, he stopped and looked back at the stunned board members.

“One more thing. If any of you leak what happened in this room today… I will know. And I will not be as forgiving as I was five years ago.”

The silence that followed him out of the boardroom was heavier than any insult he had endured in the storage room.

***

Erick walked down the executive hallway. His footsteps echoed on the marble floor. The assistants froze as he passed, then looked down, afraid to meet his eyes.

He stepped into the elevator. The doors closed.

In the lobby, Clara stood behind the reception desk. Her face was pale. Her hands shook over the keyboard.

Erick walked past her without looking or smiling.

Clara let out a shaky breath of relief she couldn't hide.

Outside, the cold Manhattan afternoon air hit his face.

Ivan was waiting in the black car parked by the curb. Erick got in the backseat. The car pulled away before the door fully closed.

"Pretty quick for an emergency meeting," Ivan said, hands on the wheel, eyes on the road. "I assume you didn't kill anyone."

"Not yet."

Ivan smirked. 

"Laurent Corp is funneling money into our system," Erick said flatly. "Victor's treating my company like his personal ATM."

Ivan whistled softly. "Bold. Stupid, but bold."

"Start small," Erick tapped the armrest. "Freeze their side accounts. Slow their shipments. Make their investors sweat. But keep it untraceable for now."

Ivan nodded."What about the gala?"

Erick stared at the skyline. The buildings stood like chess pieces. "Let them party. Let Michel pretend he matters. My wife deserves a man like Martin."

Ivan coughed. "Clarke's spot tonight. Horizon Lounge."

"Martin's been there three times this month," Ivan added. "Never alone."

The car weaved through traffic.

Erick exhaled. "He'll be there tonight."

"Yeah," Ivan said.

"Good."

Ivan kept driving, but the word settled between them.