Chapter 3- Cleaning trash

Her eyes seemed to dissect his every thought, sending shivers down his spine and causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead. The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with apprehension.

The others in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, avoiding direct eye contact with Esme.

They all knew her reputation well—the woman who always maintained her composure, but when provoked, turned as cold as a killer.

Her icy demeanor was a warning in itself, a reminder of the consequences of crossing her.

The slightest misstep could lead to dire consequences, a fact that kept everyone on edge in her presence.

thought, sending shivers down his spine and causing beads of sweat to form on his forehead. The room felt suffocating, the air heavy with apprehension.

The others in the room shifted uncomfortably in their seats, avoiding direct eye contact with Esme.

They all knew her reputation well—the woman who always maintained her composure, but when provoked, turned as cold as a killer.

"What do you mean esm...." William's words trailed off as he met Esma's icy glare. A shiver ran down his spine, halting his speech midway. His eyes widened slightly, betraying a hint of fear mingled with uncertainty.

"I...I mean, President," he stammered, his voice trembling despite his efforts to sound confident. He forced a pleasing smile onto his face, though it appeared strained and artificial.

With a nervous gesture, he raised his hand to the level of his chest, a subconscious attempt to appear non-threatening.

"We, as elders, just want to take care of you," William continued, the tremor in his voice more pronounced now as he struggled to maintain composure under Esma's penetrating gaze.

Hearing his words, Esma couldn't help but sneer, her expression filled with disdain.

"Taking care of me?" Her tone dripped with mockery as she regarded William, tilting her head slightly as if studying him with amusement and skepticism.

Esme leaned on the table slightly, her posture casual but her eyes sharp.

"And how?" she asked, her lips curling into a cold smile. Her gaze settled on William, and the intensity in her eyes sent a wave of pressure through the room.

It wasn't just William who felt it—everyone present seemed to shrink under the weight of her unspoken threat. They understood that her warning was not directed solely at William but at all of them.

Minutes ticked by, and still, Esme received no response. She let the silence stretch, enjoying the discomfort it caused. Finally, she leaned back in her chair, her smile turning into a smirk.

"No answer? Well then, let me help you," she said, her voice dripping with a chilling politeness.

As she spoke, her smile faded, replaced by a look of steely determination. She tapped the arm of her chair lightly, the sound barely audible yet commanding.

Behind her, Helga, who had been standing silently like a sentinel, moved. She walked to the door with purpose, her footsteps echoing in the tense silence of the room.

Opening the door, she signaled to the hallway, and three imposing bodyguard-like men entered, each holding two bound individuals.

The men exuded an air of menace, their presence alone enough to deepen the atmosphere of fear.

The bodyguards approached Esme, their movements synchronized and efficient.

As they reached the table, they bowed to her in unison, a gesture of respect that only underscored her authority.

With a quick, coordinated motion, they threw the bound individuals onto the table.

Crash.

The sound reverberated through the office, the impact jarring everyone except Esme. Chairs scraped against the floor as those around the table jumped to their feet, faces pale with shock and fear.

The room was filled with a tense silence, the kind that makes every heartbeat sound deafening.

Esme remained seated, her expression unchanging. She surveyed the scene with a cold, detached satisfaction.

"Now," she said, her voice cutting through the silence like a knife, "shall we continue this conversation?"

Her eyes locked onto William's, and in that moment, it was clear to everyone that Esme was not someone to be trifled with.

The message was unmistakable: compliance was no longer optional—it was a matter of survival.

Suddenly, one of the men around the table rushed forward, his movements frantic and desperate. He dropped to his knees in front of Esme, his voice quivering with fear.

"Pr—President, it wasn't me... it was all these people. They were the ones who asked me for this," he stammered, his words tumbling out in a rush.

Sweat dripped from his forehead as he pointed a trembling finger at the others around the table.

The director and board members' faces turned ashen at his words. Anger quickly replaced their initial shock, their expressions hardening into masks of fury.

"You bastard! What the hell are you talking about?" they shouted, their voices a cacophony of indignation and outrage.

Her eyes seemed to dissect his every

Esme watched the scene unfold with a calm, almost detached interest.

Her eyes narrowed slightly, assessing the man kneeling before her and the reactions of the others.

The man continued to tremble, his fear palpable, while the accused board members looked ready to pounce on him.

Helga, standing by the door, remained unmoved, her eyes flicking between Esme and the unfolding drama.

The bodyguards stood at attention, their expressions impassive, ready to act at a moment's notice.

Esme's gaze shifted back to the man kneeling before her, her expression inscrutable. "Is that so?" she asked, her voice low and dangerous.

The room fell silent, the air thick with tension. She leaned forward slightly, her eyes locking onto his. "And what proof do you have of these claims?"

The man's eyes widened in panic, and he glanced around the room, seeking support but finding only hostile glares.

"I-I... I have recordings," he stuttered, his voice barely a whisper. "Emails, messages... they planned everything."

A murmur rippled through the room, a mix of disbelief and fear.

The director and board members exchanged glances, their anger now tinged with uncertainty.

Esme leaned back in her chair, her fingers drumming lightly on the table.

"Bring me these recordings," she commanded, her tone brooking no argument.

"And if you're lying..." She let the threat hang in the air, the unspoken consequences clear.

The man nodded frantically, scrambling to his feet.

"Yes, President. I'll bring them right away," he said, his voice shaking. He backed away, his eyes never leaving Esme's, before hurrying out of the room.

As the door closed behind him, Esme turned her gaze back to the remaining board members, her expression cold and unforgiving.

"Anyone else care to confess?" she asked, her voice a whisper of menace that sent shivers down their spines.

The room remained silent, the tension almost tangible as Esme's question hung in the air.

The board members shifted uncomfortably in their seats, casting furtive glances at one another.

Their fear was palpable, a stark contrast to the calm and composed figure seated at the head of the table.