All Chapters of Thrown Out, Claimed By The CEO.: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

“Keys,” Nathan said. No one argued. Destiny was already at the door, pistol low. She checked the peephole. Empty porch. Empty street. The officers were gone from the gate. “Where are they?” she said. Nathan’s radio crackled. Static. Then nothing. “They’re not answering.” Elma’s stomach dropped. “Joseph—”“Don’t say his name,” Destiny snapped. She threw the door open. Two officers lay on the grass by the gate. Breathing. Unconscious. No blood. No signs of a fight. Just down. “Gas,” Nathan said. He’d seen it before. “Tasteless. Fast.” He kicked the gate. It swung open. The car was still there. Nathan’s SUV. Untouched. “Move,” he ordered. They ran. Marian in the middle. Elma behind her. Destiny covering the rear. Elma didn’t look at the house. She didn’t look at the broken window. She didn’t look at the black box on the floor. She just ran. *In the car:* Nathan floored it. Tires screamed on the gravel. Destiny was in the passenger seat, eyes on the mirrors. “We’re clean

6:02pm. Hayes Corp Tower, 41st floor. Glass. Steel. Silence. The boardroom was full. Twelve chairs. Twelve faces. All of them looking at the door. At the head of the table: Joseph. No, James. Suit tailored. Hair slicked back. No orange. No cuffs. He looked like he belonged there. Because he did. “Mr. Hayes,” the chairwoman said. Her voice shook. “You said you had the majority shares.”“I do,” James said. He smiled. “And I have the heir.”The doors opened. Elma walked in first. Nathan behind her. One step back. Doctor. Bodyguard. Heir. Every head turned. Elma didn’t look at James. She looked at the table. “Miss Okonkwo,” the chairwoman stood. “We were told you were... missing.”“I was,” Elma said. “Held. Threatened. My aunt’s assets frozen. My name used to commit fraud.” She dropped a folder on the table. Bank transfers. Photos. The guard’s confession. All from the USB. “James Hayes. Faked his death 9 years ago. Married my aunt under a false name. Used her to access Ha

Elma’s breath caught. He never told her. Twenty-five years. Every birthday. Every school run. Every night he made rice and told her, “It’s just us, Elma.” And all along, he had this. `My two daughters. -D` Willa. Age 2. In his arms. Not his blood. But his arms anyway. Willa saw it too. She didn’t breathe. The tears on her scar dried instantly. “That’s not me,” she said. Voice flat. Wrong. “He didn’t—” “He did,” Nathan said. He picked up the photo. “He went back for you.” Willa’s head snapped up. “James said he left me. Said he watched the car burn with me in it and walked away.” “James lied,” Richard said. He stepped into the vault. No smile now. Just the CEO who’d lost a PA. “I signed the incident report. Sealed it. My brother — your father — cut the brakes on my car. Mr. Okonkwo found him. Pulled him out. Then he went back for the backseat.” He looked at Willa. “You were 40 seconds from fire. James pulled you out first. By 40 seconds. Your father went back for Na

*1. 7:03am. Security, Basement Level* “Package for Willa Hayes. Kano Maximum.” Willa didn’t look up from her screen. “Log it. Don’t open it.” Elma was there for the 8am board prep. She stopped. “Protocol says we open it.” “Protocol was written by James’ lawyers,” Willa said. “He’s dead 9 years. James is alive. He doesn’t get mail unless we say.” Nathan walked in. COO badge. “Open it. Or he wins by making us scared of paper.” Willa stared at the box. Brown. No return address. Just her name. “Fine,” she said. Gloves. Cutter. X-ray first. Paper only. No powder. No device. She opened it. One envelope. One page. James’ handwriting. `Willa, He died at 47. You’re 23. He got 24 years you won’t. Use them to watch your back. Patient men don’t forget. -J` No threats. No plan. Just math. Willa’s jaw tightened. “He’s counting.” Elma took the letter. “Mr. Okonkwo died at 47. 9 years ago. James wants you to think that’s your deadline.” “It’s not,” Willa s

*1. 8:00am. First Trust Bank, Uyo Branch* They were first in line. Elma. Navy blazer. Brass key in her palm. Willa. Black suit. Scar out. Hands in pockets so they wouldn’t shake. Nathan. COO pin. IA badge in his wallet. Richard. In the back. No jacket. Just a retired CEO watching his PA’s daughter end a war. Marian stayed in the car. Destiny parked across the street. Guitar case on the passenger seat. Inside: Cold AC. Two guards. One manager. “Box 217,” Elma said. She slid the key across the marble. Her hand didn’t shake. “Mr. Okonkwo. Now Elma Okonkwo.” The manager checked the ledger. 8 years old. His eyes widened. “That box... it’s flagged. Legal hold.” Nathan laid his IA badge on the counter. “Lift it. NFCC cleared it 20 minutes ago.” He slid the warrant. “We’re not here to take. We’re here to declare.” The manager looked at the three of them. Same jawline between Nathan and Willa. None of it with Elma. He swallowed. “Vault room. This way.” *2. 8:15am. Vau