Chapter 9
The board meeting adjourned in stunned, fractured silence. As the regional directors filed out of the mahogany room with grim, unreadable expressions, Thomas lingered by the doorway. He cast one lingering, venomous look toward Julian before turning on his heel and disappearing down the corridor. He knew his empire of intimidation was crumbling, but men like Thomas did not surrender their power quietly.
Julian exhaled a long breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her hands resting flat against the edge of the conference table. The adrenaline rush was beginning to fade, leaving a hollow ache in her muscles.
“You handled them like a seasoned veteran,” David said, stepping up beside her and offering a warm, reassuring smile. “I don't think Thomas has ever been spoken to that way in his entire career.”
“He’s terrified,” Julian noted, looking toward the empty doorway. “Men like Thomas don't care about the resorts, the guests, or the brand. They care about control. And right now, we just ripped their favorite tool out of their hands.”
“Which is precisely why we need to stay vigilant,” Richard added, walking over from the head of the table. He looked at Julian with deep respect. “You rattled the cage today, Julian. Tomorrow, the animals inside are going to start biting back. Marcus is handling the legal filings for the structural overhaul, but you need to watch your back on the ground.”
Later that afternoon, Julian walked back down to the beach club property, stepping once more onto the familiar white gravel. The sea breeze was cool, carrying the scent of salt and blooming oleander. The atmosphere among the staff had shifted palpably; housekeepers and servers nodded to her with newfound respect, while the remaining supervisors avoided her gaze entirely, retreating into their glass-fronted offices like hermit crabs sensing a change in the tide.
As Julian approached the staff lockers near the rear courtyard, she noticed her locker door was slightly ajar. A cold knot formed in her stomach. She stopped dead in her tracks, remembering Maria’s warning about dead snakes still having venom.
Cautiously, Julian pushed the locker door open the rest of the way. Inside, her spare uniform had been slashed to ribbons with a utility knife, and a small, anonymous note rested on top of the ruined fabric. She picked up the card with two fingers. Scrawled in jagged black ink were the words: You can't fix what's already broken. Go back to where you belong.
May you like
Julian stared at the note, her jaw tightening. She didn’t panic, nor did she cry. Instead, she folded the note neatly, slipped it into the pocket of her blazer, and pulled out her phone. She dialed David’s direct line.
“David,” she said calmly when he answered on the second ring. “The backlash has officially begun. Meet me by the white canopy in ten minutes. We have work to do.”
