Chapter 4

The investor dinner was critical. A new socially responsible investment fund was looking to partner with a firm like Sterling Capital. Ethan had spent weeks on the pitch, the data, the presentation. He'd chosen the restaurant carefully – elegant, discreet, perfect for serious discussion.

At the last minute, as they were about to leave, Chase, who had invited himself along, wrinkled his nose.

"This place, Tori? It's so... stuffy. I know a much trendier spot. Just opened. Amazing vibe."

Tori, eager to please Chase, immediately agreed. "Oh, that sounds fun! Ethan, can you sort it out?"

Ethan's jaw tightened. "Ms. Sterling, the reservation at Per Se is confirmed. The clients are expecting it. Changing now would be..."

"Flexible, Ethan. We need to be flexible," Tori said, her eyes pleading with him to understand, to make it work for Chase.

He had to scramble, making frantic calls, pulling strings he didn't really have. They ended up at Chase's "trendy" spot – loud, crowded, and entirely inappropriate. The clients were visibly annoyed.

Later, Tori subtly blamed him. "Perhaps we should have stuck to the original plan, Ethan. The acoustics weren't ideal." No mention of Chase's interference.

The humiliations escalated.

At a company-wide town hall, Chase, standing beside Tori on the small stage, decided to make an example.

Ethan was in the front row, taking notes as usual.

Chase paused his rambling speech about "synergy" and "disruption."

"You know, Tori, your team looks sharp. Mostly." His eyes landed on Ethan. "Except for Miller here. Look at his shoes. Again. Covered in... what is that, city grime?"

Laughter rippled through the room. Ethan felt his face burn.

"A man in his position, representing Sterling Capital, should have more pride. Here, Miller." Chase snapped his fingers. "Come up here. Let's get those cleaned."

The room fell silent. Ethan froze.

Tori looked uncomfortable but said nothing. Her silence was permission.

"Come on," Chase urged, a cruel smile on his face. "Don't be shy."

Ethan felt a hundred pairs of eyes on him. He had no choice. He walked slowly to the stage.

Chase produced a handkerchief from his pocket. "Kneel," he commanded.

Ethan stared at him, then at Tori. She avoided his gaze.

He knelt. The shame was a physical weight.

Chase tossed him the handkerchief. "Clean them. Properly."

Ethan wiped at his shoes, the silence in the room deafening. He could feel Chase's smug satisfaction, Tori's averted eyes, the collective embarrassment of his colleagues.

Later that week, during a tense video conference with European stakeholders, Chase insisted on being in Tori's office.

Ethan was presenting his financial summaries. They were clear, concise, data-driven.

Chase started making audible comments. "So dry, Miller. Needs more... vision."

"Is this really the best you can do? Sounds like you're reading a phone book."

Tori, flustered, interrupted Ethan. "Ethan, perhaps you could... simplify these points? Make them more... accessible?"

It was a direct undermining of his credibility, in front of key international partners. His carefully prepared analysis was dismissed as too complex, too dull, because Chase found it so.

The final, unbearable incident happened at a lavish party Tori threw for Chase, ostensibly to celebrate his "groundbreaking" new tech venture (which Ethan suspected was pure vaporware).

Ethan was there, of course, in his EA capacity, ensuring everything ran smoothly.

Chase, holding court, spotted Ethan. "Miller! Just the man. I'm parched. Get me a scotch. Top shelf."

Ethan went to the bar. As he returned with the drink, Chase stopped him.

"You know, I've heard you're allergic to alcohol, Miller. Is that true?" Chase's eyes gleamed.

Ethan nodded curtly. "Yes."

"A real shame. A man should be able to hold his liquor." Chase took the scotch, then held it out to Ethan. "Have a sip. For me. For Tori."

Tori, standing nearby, smiled vaguely. "Don't be a spoilsport, Ethan."

"I really can't, Mr. Albright. I have a severe allergy."

"Nonsense. A little sip won't hurt. Unless you're trying to insult my hostess?" Chase's voice turned hard.

All eyes were on him again. Trapped.

He took the glass, his hand trembling slightly. He took the smallest possible sip.

The burning started almost immediately in his throat, his skin began to itch. He could feel his face flushing.

Chase laughed. "See? Not so bad."

Later, as Ethan struggled to breathe discreetly, his vision blurring, Chase escalated his cruelty.

"My diamond cufflinks!" Chase suddenly exclaimed, patting his wrists. "They're gone! The ones Tori gave me!"

He looked directly at Ethan. "Miller was just near me. He looked shifty."

Panic flared in Ethan. "I didn't take anything!"

Tori rushed over. "Chase, darling, what's wrong?"

"My cufflinks! Miller must have lifted them!"

"Ethan?" Tori looked at him, her expression hardening. "Did you see them?"

"No! I wouldn't..."

"Search him," Chase demanded. "He's the only one who was close enough."

Tori hesitated for a fraction of a second, then nodded to her security detail. "Check him."

Two large men grabbed Ethan, roughly patting him down, emptying his pockets in front of everyone. His wallet, his keys, his phone clattered onto a nearby table. The humiliation was absolute.

He wanted the ground to swallow him. He pleaded with Tori with his eyes. She looked away.

Of course, they found nothing.

A few minutes later, a flustered waiter found the cufflinks near the canapés table, where Chase had carelessly left them.

Chase shrugged. "Oh. Well, there they are. No harm done."

Tori turned to Ethan, who was still shaking, trying to gather his dignity.

"It was just a misunderstanding, Ethan. Nothing major. You're just a secretary, after all. These things happen."

Just a secretary.

Those words. They echoed in the sudden, ringing silence in his ears.

Expendable. Insignificant. Nothing.