The cold rain continued to lash against the glass facade of the Grand Crest Hotel, but inside, the atmosphere had frozen completely.

The grand press auditorium on the top floor of the Vance Tower was packed with over two hundred journalists, news crews, corporate executives, and international investors. Flashes from dozens of cameras illuminated the high-tech stage.

At the center of the podium stood Julian Vance, looking solemn, dignified, and impeccably dressed in a black charcoal suit.

Beside him sat the remaining board members, along with major representatives of global investment funds.

Julian cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses, putting on a perfect display of grief and heavy responsibility.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the press," Julian began, his voice amplified across the room and broadcast live to tens of millions of viewers worldwide. "It is with a heavy, broken heart that I stand before you today. As many of you know, our family has suffered an unprecedented tragedy."

The crowd went dead silent.

"My beloved brother, Arthur Vance, lies in a critical coma at Vance Medical Center," Julian continued, wiping a tear from his eye. "And my niece, Isabella... overwhelmed by corporate greed and tragic instability, is currently a federal fugitive wanted for the murder of Marcus Sterling and Victoria Cross."

Whispers erupted throughout the auditorium.

"In this moment of dark crisis," Julian said, raising his hand to quiet the room, "the Vance Trust requires strong, steady leadership to protect our shareholders, our ten thousand employees, and the integrity of this company. Therefore, by unanimous vote of the board, I am exercising Emergency Charter Provision Alpha. As of 9:15 AM today, I am assuming absolute control as CEO and Chairman of Vance Global."

The board members behind him began to applaud. News reporters scrambled to type the headline that would break the stock market.

Suddenly, the massive double doors at the back of the auditorium slammed open with a deafening CRACK!

BOOM!

The heavy doors ricocheted off the marble walls.

"APPLAUSE CAN WAIT, UNCLE JULIAN!" a voice echoed like a thunderclap across the massive hall.

Every head in the room snapped around. Cameras spun frantically toward the back entrance.

Walking down the center aisle, flanked by eight armed federal marshals and Senior Special Agent Raymond Burke, was Isabella Vance.

She wore a striking, custom crimson power suit, her head held high, her diamond heels clicking with absolute precision against the floor. She looked like an empress walking toward her throne.

The press room exploded into pure chaos. Camera flashes blinded the stage.

"ISABELLA?!" Julian gasped, stepping back from the podium, his face turning ghostly pale. "Guard! Security! Arrest her! She’s a fugitive!"

Agent Raymond Burke stepped forward, holding up a federal warrant signed by a Supreme Court judge.

"Stand down, security!" Burke announced loudly into his microphone. "Isabella Vance is in federal custody—as a protected state witness."

Julian’s jaw dropped. "What?!"

Isabella walked right up the stairs of the stage, stepping directly up to the podium. She gently pushed Julian aside, taking the microphone into her hand.