Chapter 8 - Vance Tower
The board room of Vance Enterprises occupied the top floor of the downtown glass monolith, overlooking the city skyline.
By nine-forty-five in the morning, the long mahogany table was surrounded by major investors, board members, and corporate attorneys.
Julian sat at the head of the table in a tailored charcoal suit, looking impeccable. Not a trace of the dripping, humiliated man from last night remained. His mother, Beatrice, sat to his right, wearing an ivory blazer and a victorious smile.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Julian began, tapping his pen against the legal documents in front of him. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. Today marks a historic realignment. Due to my wife’s… personal health considerations and our upcoming amicable restructuring, full operational authority of Caldwell Logistics is officially being integrated into Vance Enterprises.”
A murmur of agreement rippled through the older board members.
“We have the executed power of attorney,” Julian continued, sliding the thick folder toward the corporate secretary. “All that remains is the formal board vote to ratify the acquisition.”
“Before you take that vote,” a voice echoed from the entrance.
The heavy double doors swung open.
Every head turned.
I walked into the boardroom wearing an emerald-green pantsuit, my hair pulled back into a sharp, severe chignon.
Julian’s smile vanished. “Harper? What are you doing here? Security was instructed—”
“Security works for the building owner, Julian,” I said smoothly, walking down the length of the table. “And as of eight this morning, Caldwell Capital purchased the underlying real estate trust for Vance Tower.”
Beatrice stood up, her voice sharp as glass. “This is an internal board meeting, Harper. You have no standing here. Escort her out!”
“I wouldn't advise that, Beatrice,” another voice said.
From behind me, two men in dark suits stepped into the room, flashing gold federal badges.
“Special Agent Marcus, FBI Financial Crimes Division,” the lead investigator announced. “Everyone remain seated.”
Julian gripped the edge of the mahogany table, his knuckles turning white. “What is this nonsense?”
May you like
“This isn't nonsense, Julian,” I said, placing my hands on the back of an empty chair opposite him. “It’s your anniversary surprise.”
***
