Crown of the Empire

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The Vergara boardroom always smelled like imported leather and stale male egos. It was almost a chemical compound by now. Leather, cigars, arrogance.

I slid into the chair at the far end of the obsidian conference table, crossing my legs deliberately, the echo of my stilettos sharp against the marble. Twenty suits lined the table—all men, all old enough to consider Wi-Fi optional, all smirking like they were about to babysit a little girl playing CEO.

My father was in Malaysia, securing whatever deal kept him pretending he still mattered more than me. Which meant, for today, I was the Vergara name in this room. The one they had to listen to, though none of them wanted to.

Perfect.

"Miss Vergara," began Señor Aragon, the CFO, his voice syrupy with condescension. "We appreciate your... presence today. The board wanted to review quarterly losses before your father's return."

Presence. As if I were an accessory. A handbag with legs.

I leaned back, flashing a smile sharp enough to slice. "Losses, Señor Aragon? Funny you call them that. I call them investments. Perhaps numbers will clarify the difference."

The projector clicked on, graphs blooming across the screen.

"You see this?" I pointed at a downward red curve, watching their smugness sharpen. "You think it's bad. But if you look closer—" I tapped to reveal the breakdown, layers of data unfolding like a weapon—"the so-called losses are front-loaded infrastructure costs. Which means in two years, those investments will triple. You call it a loss because you're short-sighted. I call it positioning."

Murmurs. Shifting. I could practically smell the discomfort.

Señor Diaz snorted, leaning forward with the oily grin of someone who thought he was clever. "And yet, Princess, numbers can be... adjusted, can they not? A little creative accounting here and there?"

The room chuckled. They thought it was a joke.

I smiled wider. "Oh, don't tempt me, Señor Diaz. Remember who graduated summa cum laude in accountancy, passed the CPA exam in one take, and then topped the bar? Creative accounting may be your game. I prefer legal annihilation."

The chuckling stopped.

I flicked my gaze across them, one by one. "Let me put it this way. You spent decades writing off mistresses as consultancy fees and yachts as 'employee morale-building expenses.' I can name three senators who'd love those receipts gift-wrapped by next week. Do you want to play that game with me?"

Silence. The kind that tastes like fear disguised as politeness.

I leaned forward, voice low, deliberate. "I am not my father's shadow. I am not here to smile and nod. I am here because every peso in this empire has my signature on it, whether you like it or not. And if you ever—ever—call me Princess again, you'll learn how quickly I can turn investments into liabilities."

The projector hummed. The graphs glowed. My words hung like smoke.

For a moment, not a single man dared to breathe.

And then, slowly, grudgingly, Señor Aragon adjusted his tie. "Very well, Miss Vergara. We... will proceed as you recommend."

Of course they would.

I sat back, cool, savage satisfaction simmering in my chest.

Let them mock. Let them underestimate. That only made the fire burn hotter.

Just when I thought I'd burned them down enough for one morning, Señor Castillo—the kind of man who thought a Rolex was personality—cleared his throat.