Chapter 4 - The Tables Turn in the Boardroom
By noon, the executive boardroom of Holloway Global looked less like a temple of corporate power and more like a war room in full retreat.
The board members—men and women in expensive suits who usually looked down their noses at everyone—were shouting over one another, panic etched deeply into their wrinkled faces.
The heavy mahogany doors slammed open, and Grant strode in. His hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened, and his eyes bloodshot. He looked every bit a man who had just realized he was standing on a trapdoor.
"Quiet!" Grant roared, slamming his palms onto the glass conference table.
The room fell dead silent.
Arthur Sterling, the oldest and most ruthless member of the board, adjusted his glasses and glared at Grant. "Well, Holloway? You called this emergency meeting. Care to explain why our entire corporate treasury is sitting behind a digital wall controlled by your half-dead, estranged wife?"
Grant swallowed hard, forcing his composure back into place. "It's a temporary injunction. A legal loophole. My lawyers are already drafting an emergency motion to petition the federal court for a dissolution of the trust's archaic provisions."
"A loophole?" Sterling scoffed loudly. "Holloway, look at the screen! The Titan board is threatening to walk away unless we prove solvency in the next twenty minutes. Our stock is crashing by the second! We are losing millions every heartbeat!"
"Then we negotiate," Grant said through clenched teeth. "I will go to the hospital myself. I will make her sign a waiver. She’s weak, she’s vulnerable, she’s recovering from a near-fatal birth. She’ll fold the moment I walk into the room."
Before Grant could turn toward the door, the large wall-mounted presentation screen flickered.
The Holloway Global logo vanished, replaced by a clean, white minimalist interface. A live video feed popped up.
It wasn't a court clerk. It wasn't a judge.
It was Elena.
She was sitting in a wheelchair in a quiet hospital solarium, wearing a simple gray cardigan, her face pale but her eyes burning with an intense, unyielding fire. Behind her stood two formidable attorneys in sharp charcoal suits—men whose hourly rates were higher than a luxury sports car.
The boardroom went dead silent. Even Arthur Sterling sat frozen in his seat.
Grant stared at the screen, his chest heaving. "Elena. What is the meaning of this? Turn off this feed right now and drop the asset freeze, or I swear to God I will—"
"You will what, Grant?" Elena’s voice cut through the massive boardroom speakers, clear, calm, and terrifyingly cold.
She leaned slightly forward, resting her hands on the armrests of her wheelchair.
"You will divorce me again?" she asked softly, a bitter smile touching her lips. "You already did that, remember? As of two minutes ago—or rather, three days ago—you made it very clear that I am no longer your family."
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"Elena, stop this childish game," Grant tried to project authority, though his voice cracked slightly. "We can settle this like adults. Name your price. A million? Five million? What do you want to drop the injunction?"
"I don't want your money, Grant," Elena replied, her gaze piercing straight through the camera lens and into his soul. "I want everything you built on the back of my family's stolen legacy. I want the throne."
