Chapter 8 - The Boardroom ConfrontationInside the massive, glass-walled boardroom, a dozen high-ranking executives sat around a polished mahogany table, deep in discussion over quarterly financial spreadsheets. At the head of the table sat Arthur Sterling—Marcus’s uncle, and the actual shadow CEO of Apex Global Logistics.
Arthur looked up, irritated by the interruption, his expression twisting into confusion as he saw my father and me walk uninvited into his sanctuary.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur barked, standing up from his leather chair. "Who let you in here? Security!"
"Security is currently indisposed, Arthur," my father said smoothly, walking toward the head of the table as if he owned the building. He pulled out a chair and sat down uninvited, crossing his legs and resting his hands calmly on the mahogany wood.
Arthur’s face paled instantly. As he stared closer at my father’s face, something clicked in his memory—a ghost story whispered in the darkest corners of the global underworld.
"You..." Arthur stammered, grabbing the edge of the table for support. "You're... Richard Vance? They said you were dead!"
"Rumors of my demise have always been greatly exaggerated," my father replied with a chilling, wolfish smile. "Just like the rumors that Marcus Sterling died in a simple gas leak."
Arthur’s breath hitched. "What did you do to my nephew?"
"I gave him what he deserved," I stepped forward, slamming my tablet down onto the center of the mahogany table. The screen lit up, displaying a complex, interconnected web of offshore accounts, shell corporations, and wire transfers linking Apex Global Logistics directly to Marcus’s secret funds—and to the human trafficking payoffs that funded their entire empire.
The other board members gasped, murmuring nervously among themselves as they stared at the glaring, undeniable evidence of their illegal operations displayed in 4K resolution.
"You... you hacked our servers?!" one of the junior executives shrieked, jumping to his feet.
"I didn't hack anything," I replied, my voice ringing clear and steady through the silent boardroom. "Marcus left a very detailed digital trail on his personal laptop. And when your nephew tried to bury me alive in a concrete cage beneath our home, he forgot one tiny detail: I recorded everything."
Arthur’s face twisted into an ugly, desperate snarl. He reached swiftly into his jacket pocket, pulling out a sleek black firearm, aiming it directly at my chest.
"You shouldn't have come here," Arthur hissed, his hand trembling as he cocked the pistol. "This ends right now. Both of you."
The board members screamed, diving beneath the mahogany table in sheer panic.
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I didn't flinch. I didn't even blink.
Because before Arthur’s finger could even begin to squeeze the trigger, the glass doors of the boardroom shattered inward with a deafening crash.
