Page 62 of My Brother's Billionaire Best Friends

“I offered her a generous package. One week’s grace period. Quiet exit. No press, no emails. No calls to you.”

“You…youthreatenedher.”

“I offered her a choice,” I say, folding my hands. “She could accept the deal and walk with her dignity intact, or I’d fire her for cause.”

Her fingers tighten on the paper. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“She already cleaned out her office this morning. IT locked her credentials an hour ago.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“No,” I say. “I’m correcting one.”

Vivian’s jaw tightens. And for the first time in years, she looks off-balance.

I let her sit with it. Because this isn’t a warning. It’s a message. And she’s finally hearing it.

Vivian glares at the page in her hand like she can will it into meaning something else. “This is absurd,” she says, voice clipped. “You’re bluffing.”

“I don’t bluff,” I say calmly.

“She’s the CHRO. She’s been with VT longer than you’ve been out of college.”

“And in that time, she’s acted as your stand-in, your mouthpiece, and your enforcer. I let it go for years. But this—going after an employee behind my back, and just as importantly, leaking internal documents to you? Violations of her contract.” I shake my head. “This is where it ends.”

She sets the letter down like it’s beneath her fingers to hold. “You’ve lost perspective.”

“No,” I say, voice still even. “I’ve gained some.”

She tilts her chin. “You wouldn’t have this company if it weren’t for me.”

“And the company wouldn’t exist if I hadn’t spent the last four years cleaning up after your legacy.”

That shuts her up for a moment. She smooths her skirt again, a little slower this time. “When your father?—”

“Don’t,” I cut in, sharp and flat.

She holds up a hand, but I don’t let her finish.

“You named me CEO when the board demanded fresh blood after the Cannes disaster. You didn’t pick me because I was ready. You picked me because you needed a shield. A Thatcher name with a cleaner face. You didn’t trust anyone else to carry the optics.”

“I picked you because I thought you were capable.”

“You picked me because you were scared.”

She doesn’t deny it.

“And I stepped up,” I say. “Even when I didn’t want it. Even when every part of me knew I was being fed to the wolves to protect the brand.”

“You were the only one who could do it.”

“I was an ex-actor with an Ivy League minor in economic theory,” I snap. “I wasn’t ready. You made me ready. You forced it.” I stand, finally, and round the desk.

Vivian shifts back in her chair slightly. She doesn’t like it when I move like her. Calm. Controlled. Powerful.

“I didn’t want this job,” I tell her, voice low. “I wanted a career in something I chose. But you made sure I couldn’t walk away.”

“Gavin—”