PART 2 “You call him by his name. You ignore rules. You act special. You think you can seduce President Shiao?”

Someone laughed quietly.

Jang raised her chin.

“I’ve been with President Shiao for a long time.”

Before I could respond, the conference-room doors opened.

Shiaoza emerged.

He was still handsome in the way that had once made everything else disappear—dark suit, silver tie, controlled expression.

Then he saw Jang.

His face softened.

“Tong Tong,” he said warmly. “What’s wrong? Who would dare mess with you?”

She pointed at me.

“Just a newbie. An intern.”

He followed her finger.

And froze.

For three long seconds, my husband said nothing.

Jang mistook his silence for anger.

“She ignored company rules, insulted me, and forced her way into the executive elevator. You should fire her immediately.”

I looked at Shiaoza.

Then at the watch.

“Go ahead,” I said quietly. “Tell everyone who I am.”

His face drained of color.

Finally, he forced out the words.

“She’s my wife.”

The hallway went silent.

Jang lowered her hand.

Someone whispered, “Oh my God.”

I should have felt triumphant.

Instead, I felt hollow, because Shiaoza’s first instinct was not to come to me.

He placed a hand on Jang’s shoulder.

“This is a misunderstanding.”

“Which part?” I asked.

“Not here.”

“Why not? She insulted employees here. She threatened people here. She told everyone you would destroy my career here.”

Jang whispered, “I didn’t know who she was.”

“That is exactly the problem.”

Then I pointed toward her wrist.

“And why is she wearing your mother’s birthday present?”

Jang looked at him.

He looked at the watch.

Fear crossed his face.

“It’s complicated.”

“No. It’s a watch.”

“He gave it to me,” Jang said.

Shiaoza closed his eyes for half a second.

That tiny reaction hurt more than any confession.

At ten o’clock, the board announcement was released.

Effective immediately, I was CEO.

By ten-fifteen, I issued my first directive: all employee elevator restrictions were suspended pending review.

My second ordered preservation of every security log, expense report, executive badge record, HR revision, and vendor contract from the previous five years.

That was when Shiaoza stormed into my new office.

“You’re humiliating me.”

I looked up. “Interesting choice of words.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No. Humiliation is being told you’re too low-ranking to stand in an elevator.”

He closed the door. “Jang overstepped.”

“You protected her.”

“I was trying to keep a scene from getting worse.”

“You called her Tong Tong.”

He rubbed his face.

“The watch,” I said. “Tell me the truth.”

“My mother didn’t want it.”

“Did she see it?”

Silence.

I called Eleanor Shiao.

“Darling,” she said. “How did your morning go?”

I kept my eyes on her son.

“Did you receive the white watch I chose for your birthday?”

A pause.

“What white watch?”

Shiaoza turned away.

Something inside me broke cleanly.

When I ended the call, he said, “I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

“Jang has been under enormous pressure. I gave it to her as a bonus.”

“A sixty-thousand-dollar bonus?”

“It wasn’t like that.”

“Then what was it like?”

He stared at me.

“I have never slept with her.”

That should have comforted me.

It didn’t.

Because I had never asked.

By noon, the audit team found the first irregularity.

The executive elevator policy did not exist.

Jang had invented it eighteen months earlier and instructed security to enforce it verbally, leaving no paper trail.

The financial records were worse.

Nine consulting vendors had received $18.4 million over four years.

All nine had been approved by the president’s office.

Four were tied to addresses associated with Jang.

At twelve-thirty, she appeared in my office.

Without an audience, she seemed younger. Still proud, but afraid.

“You’re investigating me.”

“I’m investigating the company.”

“You’re punishing me because of this morning.”

“If that were true, HR would already have your termination papers.”

I slid the vendor report toward her.

“Do you own Meridian Strategy?”

“No.”

“North Axis?”

“No.”

“Then why are they registered to addresses connected to you?”

Her face lost color.

“I don’t know.”

“Think.”

“I said I don’t know.”

This fear was different.

Not fear of losing her job.

It was the fear of realizing the ground beneath you had disappeared.

She whispered, “He told me those were reimbursement entities.”

“Who?”

She glanced toward the door.

“President Shiao.”

My husband.

Then she said, “You think I’m his mistress.”

I said nothing.

“I’m not.”

“The watch says otherwise.”

Her face twisted.

“You really don’t know.”

“Know what?”

She opened her mouth.

The office door swung open.

Shiaoza walked in.

“Jang. Don’t.”

She froze.

I looked between them.

“What exactly am I not supposed to know?”

Neither answered.

So I called security.

Shiaoza laughed. “You’re having me removed from my own office?”

“My office. The board was clear.”

His expression hardened.

The husband vanished.

What remained was the man who had controlled this building while I was overseas.

“You have no idea what you’re walking into.”

“Then stop standing in my way.”

Security escorted him out.

Jang remained motionless.

Finally, she whispered, “He’s my brother.”

I stared at her.

“Half-brother.”

Eleanor had given birth to a daughter at nineteen, long before marrying into the Shiao family. The child had been raised by relatives overseas, and the truth buried to protect reputations.

Jang Chin Tong was that daughter.

Shiaoza had discovered her six years earlier and quietly brought her into the company.

That explained the affection.

The nickname.

Perhaps even the watch.

But not the money.

“Does Eleanor know you work here?”

Jang shook her head.

“Does she know he found you?”

Another shake.

I leaned back.

“Then why would he hide you from your own mother?”

Jang’s expression shifted.

She had never asked herself that.

At two o’clock, the board called an emergency meeting.

Shiaoza arrived with two attorneys.

He was already speaking when I entered.

“My wife is emotionally compromised,” he told the directors. “She has turned a personal misunderstanding into an unauthorized investigation.”

I took the chair at the head of the table.

Chairman Martin Hale said, “The CEO has authority to initiate an internal audit.”

Shiaoza smiled.

“Not if the CEO herself is implicated.”

A folder slid toward me.

Inside were wire approvals, invoices, and electronic authorizations.

Each carried my name.

My signature.

My executive credentials.

The transactions totaled $41.7 million.

Shiaoza leaned back.

“That is why I opposed her appointment.”

I stared at him.

He had never opposed it.

When the board first discussed my appointment, he had congratulated me, poured champagne, and said, “Maybe this is finally our chance to work together.”

Now I understood.

“Those signatures are forged.”

“Digital approvals don’t lie,” his attorney said.

Then Shiaoza delivered the blow he had clearly prepared.

“The board should suspend her immediately and refer this to federal authorities.”

He looked genuinely saddened.

He had rehearsed this.

Possibly for years.

The conference-room door opened.

Eleanor Shiao entered.

At seventy-two, my mother-in-law moved slowly, never weakly. Behind her came General Counsel, a forensic auditor—and Jang.

Shiaoza stood.