She attempted contact several times initially, messages ranging from conciliatory to increasingly hostile as weeks passed without response.
The first message apologized, carefully worded, likely drafted with input from a publicist given its polished, strategic tone.
The later messages abandoned that careful strategy entirely, growing increasingly personal, increasingly accusatory, as she apparently realized simple apology wasn’t generating the response she’d anticipated.
One message simply read: You’ll regret destroying my family over one moment at a party.
I saved every message, understanding they might eventually prove useful, though I never actually needed them for anything beyond simple documentation of her escalating desperation.
Six months after that devastating engagement party, I held controlling interest in Cross Holdings, acquired through a combination of direct stock purchases, strategic partnerships with other investors sympathetic to my broader goals, and one particularly satisfying negotiation with Vivienne’s own father, who remained entirely unaware of my personal connection to the original scandal until our final meeting.
Gerald Cross, a tired, increasingly desperate man by that point given the mounting financial pressure my acquisition strategy had created, finally requested a private meeting once he understood control was slipping entirely beyond his ability to prevent.
“What exactly do you want,” he asked me directly, seated across from my desk in the same office where David had first shown me those damning pension documents months earlier.
“I want you to understand what your company actually did,” I said, sliding the original Sterling documentation across the desk toward him.
He reviewed it slowly, color draining from his face as recognition apparently settled in.
“This was handled by previous management,” he said. “Before I took full control.”
“You’ve maintained the same structure for fourteen years,” I said. “That’s not previous management’s decision anymore. That’s yours.”
