Camille’s point of view
The morning sun cast long shadows across my desk as I reviewed the latest reports on Rodriguez Shipping’s supply chain. Five of their key suppliers had abruptly terminated contracts in the past twenty–four hours. Two more were scheduled to announce their withdrawal by noon Each one citing “business concerns” or “strategic realignment” – corporate speak for abandoning a sinking ship.
What none of them mentioned was the quiet pressure from Kane Industries. The subtle threats about future business relationships. The anonymous tips about Rodriguez financial instability. The carefully orchestrated market manipulation that made partnering with Stefan’s company look increasingly dangerous.
“Ms. Kane.” My assistant Rebecca knocked before entering, tablet in hand. “Marunouchi Trading just announced their withdrawal. Their statement hit the financial press five minutes ago.”
I nodded, satisfaction warming my blood. Marunouchi was Stefan’s largest Asian supplier, accounting for nearly thirty percent of his Pacific shipping materials.
“How did the market react?”
Rodriguez stock dropped another eight points in pre–market trading” Rebecca couldn’t hide her admiration. “At this rate, they’ll be below their IPO price by next week.”
“And Stefan?”
“Scheduled an emergency board meeting for tomorrow morning. His father is flying back from Europe tonight.” Rebecca’s efficiency reflected the months of training Victoria had invested in all staff who worked directly with me.
Good. Let him feel the walls closing in. Let him experience the helpless panic I’d felt when my own life crumbled beneath me.
Victoria entered as Rebecca was leaving, impeccable as always in a tailored navy suit that conveyed power without effort. Her eyes took in the market data on my screens with evident satisfaction.
“I see Marunouchi made their announcement,” she said, moving to stand beside my desk. “Your strategy is working even better than projected.”
She studied me, head tilted slightly. “You’ve done exceptional work targeting his supply chain. Where did you. obtain such detailed knowledge of their dependencies?”
I kept my expression neutral. “Research Planning, Careful analysis.”
Not entirely a lie. But not the whole truth either. I didn’t mention the nights I’d spent listening to Stefan talk about his company’s operations. The dinners where he’d explained supply chain dynamics to me, thinking his wife too simple to truly understand. The business meetings I’d attended as “support” while absorbing every detail. His underestimation of me then had become his vulnerability now.
“Well, your analysis was flawless.” Victoria nodded with genuine approval, rare from a woman who seldom offered praise.
Rebecca knocked again, appearing in the doorway. “Ms. Kane, just a reminder that the second batch of Rose’s photos is scheduled to release at noon. Entertainment sites first, then fashion blogs, then mainstream news. The media team is standing by.”
My finger hovered over my keyboard, the final command queued and ready. These photos would hurt Rose far more than the first batch. Not just affairs and indiscretions, but evidence of her time with Anton Bessonov. Her connections to his questionable business dealings. Her presence on his yacht during negotiations later flagged by international authorities,
One keystroke would send her professional reputation from damaged to destroyed.
I pressed enter.
“It’s done,” I said, a strange mix of emotions washing through me. Victory, yes. But also something darker. Something that felt uncomfortably like becoming what I hated most about my sister.
Victoria observed me with that penetrating, gaze that always seemed to see beneath my carefully maintained facade. “You hesitated before pressing enter. Having doubts?”
“No,” I replied, perhaps too quickly. “Just savoring the moment.”
She studied me for another beat before accepting my answer with a slight nod. “I’ll be in strategic planning urttil
La slight ned two. Have Rebecca update me on the public reaction as it develops.”
Rebecca appeared in the doorway again, as if summoned by her name. “I’ll have the media team monitor reaction and amplify key narratives, Ms. Kane.”
After she left, I pulled up the live feed from the security camera outside Rose’s boutique. We’d installed it weeks ago, ensuring I could witness her world unraveling in real time.
It took exactly twenty–seven minutes for the news to reach her. I watched her assistant rush out to the waiting car, phone extended urgently. Saw Rose’s perfect posture crumple slightly as she read the headlines. Watched color drain from her face as photographers swarmed, suddenly alert to a story breaking before their eyes.
For a brief, wonderful moment, pure panic overtook her features. Then, like the performer she’d always been, she recovered. Forced a smile. Waved off questions with practiced grace.
But I’d seen it. That flash of genuine fear. That instant recognition that her carefully constructed life was truly falling apart.
It should have felt sweeter.
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