Chapter 6 - THE PEOPLE'S PROXYAt 8:00 AM on Saturday morning, while Wall Street analysts were writing off Evelyn Hart as a fallen corporate titan, a quiet revolution began in the streets of Chicago.
It started with a video uploaded to TikTok and Instagram from an unverified account.
The video showed a tall, plain-dressed woman standing inside a dimly lit diner kitchen, holding an old silver soup ladle.
"My name is Evelyn Hart," she said directly into the camera. "Thirty years ago, my mother opened a twelve-seat diner with twenty-three dollars in her pocket. She taught me that a restaurant isn't just a business—it’s a sanctuary. Last night, I watched a rich man throw a bowl of soup onto the floor because he thought a working man and his sick child didn't belong in our house."
The camera panned over to Marcus and Lily, sitting at a wooden kitchen table behind her.
"Wall Street hedge funds are trying to shut down our charity foundation," Evelyn continued, her voice clear and resonant. "They say that giving back to the community is bad for profit. They are trying to buy our company so they can turn it into an empty money machine. If you own even one single share of Northstar stock—if you bought it for your retirement, if you bought it for your children—I am asking you for your proxy vote this Monday morning."
Within three hours, the video had been viewed four million times.
By Saturday afternoon, #IStandWithEvelyn and #SoupForMarcus were trending number one on Twitter nationwide.
Meanwhile, in a small, cluttered garage in Naperville, two of Evelyn’s top corporate investigators slammed a thick file folder onto the desk of Arthur Pendelton, the retired owner of Mid-West Transport.
"What is this?" Arthur asked, blinking through thick glasses.
"This is the hard drive backup from your yard’s security server from three weeks ago," the investigator said. "The manager you left in charge—Gary Miller—has been illegally selling catalytic converters to a chop shop in South Chicago. He altered the digital logs to frame Marcus Vance so you wouldn't suspect him."
Arthur stared at the screen as the video played, showing Gary Miller loading crates of parts into an unmarked van at 2:00 AM while Marcus was off duty.
Arthur’s face flushed with shame. "My God... Marcus was the most honest mechanic I ever had. He came to me twice saying something was wrong with the inventory, and I didn't listen to him because Gary was my nephew!"
"Sign this affidavit," the investigator commanded, pushing a legal document and a pen across the desk. "Or the state prosecutor will be here in one hour with an arrest warrant for you as an accomplice."
Arthur grabbed the pen with trembling hands and signed his name.
While the legal trap was closing in Naperville, Julian Thorne was sitting in his high-rise office on LaSalle Street, sipping scotch and watching the stock market ticker on his television screen.
"Sir," his Chief Investment Officer burst into the room, holding an iPad with a frantic expression. "We have a massive problem."
Julian didn't look up from his drink. "What is it now? Has Evelyn resigned?"
"No, sir! The retail trading apps—Robinhood, E*TRADE, Fidelity—they’re being flooded with buy orders for Northstar stock from small individual investors!"
Julian scoffed. "So what? A bunch of day traders buying five shares each? That’s pocket change."
"Sir, you don't understand!" the officer yelled, holding up the iPad. "Over six hundred thousand individual people have bought shares in the last twelve hours! They aren't holding the stock to make a profit—they’re immediately assigning their proxy voting rights directly to Evelyn Hart through an automated online petition!"
Julian froze. The glass of scotch stopped halfway to his lips.
"What did you say?" Julian whispered.
"The small investors... the working-class people... they now control twenty-two percent of the voting stock!" the officer panicked. "Combined with Evelyn’s personal shares and her allies, she has fifty-one point eight percent of the total vote!"
Julian’s face went pale. He slammed his glass onto his glass desk, shattering it into pieces.
"Get Richard Sterling’s lawyer on the phone right now!" Julian roared. "Tell him to execute Option B! We leak the internal tax audits! We burn the company down before we let her win!"
"It's too late, Mr. Thorne," a heavy voice spoke from the office doorway.
Julian spun around.
Standing in the doorway was Special Agent Miller of the FBI, accompanied by three armed federal officers and a lead prosecutor from the United States Attorney’s Office.
"Julian Thorne," Agent Miller said, pulling out a federal arrest warrant. "You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit wire fraud, money laundering, and illegal market manipulation in connection with Richard Sterling and offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands."
Julian backed away toward his window, his hands trembling violently. "This is a mistake! You can't prove any of this!"
"We didn't have to," Agent Miller smiled coldly. "An hour ago, Richard Sterling took a plea deal. He gave us six years of text messages between you and him outlining the entire scheme to frame Marcus Vance and tank Northstar’s stock."
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As the handcuffs clicked around Julian Thorne’s wrists, he looked past the agents toward the television screen on the wall.
On the screen was a live shot of Northstar Headquarters, where thousands of ordinary people—factory workers, nurses, teachers, truck drivers—were standing in the pouring rain outside, holding signs that read: EVERYONE HAS A PLACE AT THE TABLE.
