The Heiress's Comeback-Chapter 296: [ Volume 1] Chaper - Kill us already

"Reasonable?" another director shot back, his voice rising. "Do you have any idea what you’re asking for? That’s not just shares; that’s our control, our power in this company! You’re bleeding us dry!"

Esme shrugged, unbothered by their outbursts. "Oh, I’m very aware. But let’s not forget who holds all the cards here."

The directors were spiraling now, their panic palpable. For many of them, three percent was nearly everything they had. Surrendering it would leave them powerless, nothing more than ghosts in the empire they’d helped build.

One of them slammed his fist on the table. "This is blackmail! You’re trying to kick us out!"

Esme straightened, brushing an invisible speck of dust off her sleeve. "Blackmail? Such an ugly word. I prefer... incentive."

The room fell silent, save for the sound of Esme’s heels clicking against the polished floor as she moved back to her seat. She glanced at her watch and sighed dramatically. "Oh, would you look at the time? My people are probably outside the police station by now. And the income tax office. Busy bees, you know?"

Her words sent a ripple of panic through the room. One director clutched at his tie as if it were choking him. Another frantically whispered into his phone, trying to confirm if Esme was bluffing.

"Esme, please," one of them finally said, his voice trembling. "Let’s be reasonable. Three percent is too much. How about one percent?"

Esme’s smile froze, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "One percent?" she echoed, her voice cold enough to freeze the air. "Do you think this is a negotiation? If you want me to reconsider, I can always make it four."

The room erupted again, but this time it was pure chaos. The directors were shouting over each other, their voices a cacophony of desperation and anger.

Esme, meanwhile, leaned back in her chair, watching the spectacle with thinly veiled amusement. "Take your time," she said, her tone almost mocking. "I’m in no rush. But don’t forget—every second you waste, the closer we get to my people submitting that evidence."

Esme’s eyes flicked to her watch, and her lips tightened. Two hours. Two maddening hours spent in this suffocating boardroom with people she loathed. Add to that the time she’d wasted prepping for this ambush, and she’d been at it for four grueling hours. If she didn’t get home soon, her husband might actually kill her. Not metaphorically—actually. She could already picture him pacing the floor, his temper simmering, maybe even sharpening a knife for dramatic effect. The thought made her chest tighten.

Her patience snapped.

Esme slammed her hand on the table. The resounding

BAM!

silenced the room. A director’s pen clattered to the floor, and the muffled hum of conversation from the hall outside came to an abrupt halt. Even the smoke from someone’s abandoned cigarette seemed to freeze in the air.

"Enough," she hissed, her voice as sharp as broken glass. "You have two options, and you’re going to choose one right now. Option one: you go to jail. Option two: you give me the percentage I’m asking for. Your call. But let me spell it out for you—either way, you’re walking out of here with nothing. So if jail sounds like a vacation to you, keep running your mouths."

The directors looked at her, wide-eyed and frozen, as if they’d just realized they were trapped in a lion’s den. The one at the head of the table—a pompous man with a thinning hairline—had been mid-sigh, his momentary relief crushed under the weight of Esme’s words.

Next to her, Aron moved with silent efficiency. He reached into his briefcase and produced a stack of papers, slamming them onto the table with enough force to rival Esme’s earlier outburst. His jaw was clenched tight, his eyes cold. He leaned forward, addressing the directors in a tone that could chill fire.

"Sign the papers," he said. "Now."

Aron’s irritation wasn’t just professional—it was personal. He hadn’t been home in days, stuck in this mess because these idiots couldn’t play by the rules. And while he missed his baby, he didn’t mean the crying one in a crib. He meant his wife, who was at home juggling work, their newborn, and her own dwindling patience with him.

The directors hesitated, but the look in Aron’s eyes and the storm radiating off Esme broke them. One by one, they stepped forward. The weight of the situation was palpable as each director added their signature, their faces pale with defeat. Signing away 4% of their shares wasn’t just a loss—it was a public humiliation.

All except for Mrs. Valhale and Florence’s family.

Mrs. Valhale, ever the calculating one, hesitated, her trembling fingers betraying her calm façade. But Esme had come prepared. With an icy glare, Esme leaned forward, her words cutting through the tension like a knife. "You know what I have on you. Don’t make me use it."

That was all it took. Mrs. Valhalle’s composure crumbled, and with a resigned sigh, she scrawled her name. The papers were complete—except for the Florence family, who remained untouchable. For now. Esme knew they were guilty, but they were too careful. Without concrete evidence, their 5% stake was safe.

When the last paper was signed, Esme collected them with a triumphant smirk. The directors now held a measly 20% collectively. Mrs. Valhalle was left with 20% of her own. But the lion’s share? That was all Esme.

She straightened her blazer, her smile a sharp curve of satisfaction. "Well," she said, her tone dripping with finality, "this meeting is adjourned."

Without waiting for a response, Esme turned on her heel and strode toward the door, leaving a room full of broken egos and bitter resentment in her wake. The smoke still lingered in the air, but she didn’t care.

She had bigger things to deal with—like getting home in time to make sure her husband wasn’t actually planning to murder her.

Aron had followed her, as persistent as ever. But as soon as Esme stepped out of the building, her plans were derailed. Her session froze. The car. That damned Aron! He’d taken it and sped off like a thief in the night.