Chapter 3 - The Stock Market Crash and the CEO’s PanicBy 8:30 a.m., Wall Street was buzzing with panic before the opening bell even rang.
Elena and I, flanked by two senior intellectual property bailiffs and a federal marshal, walked through the glass-and-steel revolving doors of the Caruso Design Group headquarters on Fifth Avenue. The towering thirty-story skyscraper was the crown jewel of Dominic’s career—a monument to his supposed genius, built entirely on the backs of quiet creators whose work he swallowed whole.
As we stepped out of the private elevator onto the executive floor, administrative assistants and junior designers scrambled out of our way.
Dominic was sitting behind his massive mahogany desk in his corner office, shouting into speakerphone at an international investor, when the heavy oak doors swung open unannounced.
He looked up, his face flushing dark with fury. "Security! Who let these— Nora?"
His voice faltered as he recognized me standing beside a federal officer holding a thick sheaf of legal documents. Dominic slammed his phone down, jumping to his feet. "Have you completely lost your mind? Showing up here after causing a public circus last night? Get out of my office before I have you thrown out on the street!"
I didn't flinch. I walked slowly across the plush Persian rug, stopping just a few feet from his desk, looking at him with a chilling, detached calm.
"You can call security, Dominic," I said clearly, my voice echoing in the spacious office. "Or you can read what the federal court just filed against your company."
Elena stepped forward, tossing the emergency injunction packet directly onto his pristine desk.
Dominic glanced down at the papers, scoffing dismissively. "What is this nonsense? A copyright infringement claim? Against Caruso Design? On what grounds?"
"On the grounds of wholesale intellectual property theft," Elena answered smoothly, crossing her arms. "Every single anchor piece in your winter bridal collection—including the flagship ivory gown presented at last night's gala—was designed, drafted, and digitally fingerprinted by Nora Sterling Caruso four years ago. Furthermore, federal investigators are currently auditing your corporate ledger because your company used stolen proprietary designs to secure a forty-million-dollar expansion loan without the creator's consent."
Color drained rapidly from Dominic’s face. The arrogant, untouchable CEO veneer cracked instantly.
"That's... that's impossible," Dominic stammered, his eyes darting wildly between Elena and me. "Nora, you didn't... you couldn't have filed this. You're my wife! We can settle this at home! Don't ruin everything we've built over a petty domestic dispute!"
"Domestic dispute?" I repeated, letting out a sharp, cold laugh. "You slapped me in front of two hundred people, Dominic. You paraded another woman wearing my clothes and your affection in public. And you honestly thought I would sit quietly at home while you slapped your family name on my soul?"
Before Dominic could stammer another excuse, his desk phone began ringing incessantly. Then his personal cell phone buzzed. Then the office door flew open, and his panicked Chief Financial Officer rushed inside, pale as a ghost.
"Mr. Caruso! You need to look at Bloomberg right now!" the CFO blurted out, breathless. "The board of directors is holding an emergency panic session! Institutional investors are pulling their funding! Our stock just plummeted twenty-eight percent in pre-market trading after the federal injunction news hit the wire!"
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Dominic grabbed his phone, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it. He stared at the glowing screen in sheer, unadulterated horror.
His empire—the mighty Caruso dynasty he was so proud of—was bleeding out in real time. And I held the tourniquet.
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