Chapter 4 - THE BOARDROOM CRASHBy 8:00 AM, the sun rose over the city, casting long shadows across the gleaming glass tower of Holloway Global Enterprises.
In the executive boardroom on the 40th floor, the atmosphere was suffocating. Brandon Holloway sat at the head of the polished mahogany table, his hair slightly disheveled, his hands shaking as he poured himself a glass of scotch. Across from him sat his father, Richard Holloway—the cold, ruthless patriarch—and Victoria, who was nervously applying fresh lipstick.
At the far end of the room sat three men in dark suits with heavy silver rings—representatives of the syndicate.
"You have one hour, Brandon," the lead mobster said, his tone icy. "Where is the $20 million transfer from your wife’s account?"
"It... it’s being processed," Brandon stammered, sweating through his custom shirt. "Her mother pulled a crazy stunt last night, but my lawyers are filing an emergency guardianship motion right now. The judge is in my father's pocket. The money will be cleared by noon!"
"Noon is too late," the man replied, drawing a suppressed pistol and placing it calmly on the table. "If the transfer isn't confirmed by 9:00 AM, we take your life as collateral."
Suddenly, the double doors of the boardroom burst open.
Two security guards stumbled backward into the room, followed by a woman in a mud-stained trench coat, carrying a leather briefcase.
It was me.
Behind me came six armed federal agents led by Special Agent Marcus Vance—my younger brother.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Richard Holloway roared, standing up from his chair. "This is a private corporate meeting! Guards, remove these people!"
"Sit down, Richard!" Agent Vance yelled, unholstering his badge. "FBI! Nobody move!"
Brandon collapsed back into his chair, his jaw dropping in absolute terror as his eyes landed on me.
"You..." Brandon gasped. "How are you alive? The house... the men..."
"Your hired guns are currently in state custody, Brandon," I said, walking slowly down the center of the boardroom table, my heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. "And they were more than happy to talk to avoid federal arson and attempted murder charges."
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Victoria jumped up, her face twisted in rage. "This is absurd! You have no authority here! Helen, you are a lunatic grieving a lost pregnancy! Get out!"
"I’m not here as a mother today, Victoria," I said coldly, snapping open my briefcase and slamming a heavy stack of audited documents onto the table. "I’m here as the Senior Forensic Auditor who just unraveled twenty years of tax fraud, shell companies, and state-level treason."
