Chapter 5 - THE BOARDROOM AMBUSHBy 3:00 PM, the 85th-floor boardroom of Blackwell Industries was packed to capacity.
The glass-walled room overlooked a slate-gray Manhattan skyline. Twenty members of the board of directors sat in dead silence, whispering among themselves as financial news networks broadcast breaking reports of an impending SEC investigation into Blackwell Industries.
Julian Vance sat at the head of the table—the seat John usually occupied—wearing an immaculate charcoal suit and shuffling papers with an air of absolute authority.
When the double doors swung open, all heads turned.
John Blackwell walked in. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, his overcoat unbuttoned, but his eyes burned with the cold, absolute fury of a wounded titan.
"Julian," John announced, his voice echoing off the mahogany walls. "Get out of my seat."
Julian looked up, raising an eyebrow with theatrical amusement. "I’m afraid that’s no longer your seat, John. The board has just voted unanimously to invoke the emergency leadership clause. Given your recent erratic behavior, your emotional instability following Mrs. Blackwell’s passing, and the federal probe into Project Phoenix, you have been temporarily suspended as CEO."
Murmurs rippled through the board members. Several of them—directors Julian had quietly bought off over the past five years—nodded in agreement.
"Suspended?" John laughed—a dark, humorless sound that sent a chill through the room. He walked slowly toward the head of the table, pulling the digital flash drive from his pocket and slamming it down onto the polished wood. "You think a suspension is going to save you, Julian?"
Julian’s eyes flicked to the flash drive, a momentary flash of panic crossing his features before he regained his smooth veneer. "More of your dead wife's conspiracy theories, John? We’ve already audited those accounts. Helen was grieving; she imagined things that weren't there."
"She didn't imagine the four hundred million dollars funneled into the Cayman shell companies," John said loudly, stepping right up to Julian’s chair. "She didn't imagine the municipal water contamination reports. And she certainly didn't imagine the brake-line tampering report on her car from the night she died."
The room went dead silent.
Julian’s face turned the color of ash. He stood up abruptly, knocking his leather chair backward. "You're insane! Security! Remove him from the building!"
Before the corporate security guards stationed by the doors could move, the heavy oak doors opened again.
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Entering the room wasn't just security. It was a team of federal agents from the Department of Justice, led by a senior investigator holding a federal warrant.
"Julian Vance," the lead agent called out, flashing his badge. "You are under arrest for corporate embezzlement, illicit environmental dumping, and the conspiracy-related homicide of Helen Blackwell."
