The fluorescent lights of the emergency ward buzzed with a relentless, mechanical hum that mirrored the frantic beating of Baldric’s heart. He stood outside Trauma Room 4, his massive hands—calloused, scarred, and permanently stained with engine grease—gripping the sterile metal railing until his knuckles turned as white as the hospital walls.

The emergency board room of Vance Enterprises looked more like a war room than a corporate office. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning sun was breaking through the haze, illuminating the panic etched onto the faces of the dozen executives seated around the massive marble table.

Derek and his father, Roger, sat at the far end, both pale, sweating through their expensive suits despite the crisp air conditioning. They had spent the last thirty-six hours trying every backchannel, calling every political favor, and offering massive bribes to unfreeze their accounts.

Every single door had slammed shut. Bank presidents wouldn’t take their calls. Federal regulators suddenly discovered dozens of compliance audits regarding the Vance family's offshore accounts. Their stock was currently in a freefall, shedding forty percent of its value in early pre-market trading.

The heavy mahogany doors at the end of the room swung open with a resounding click.

Silence descended instantly—the kind of suffocating silence that precedes an execution.

Baldric walked in.

He hadn't bothered to wear a suit. He wore his familiar faded denim jacket, a plaid flannel shirt, and sturdy work boots that thumped heavily against the polished marble floor. His hands were still calloused, his fingernails carrying the faint, permanent stain of grease.

He didn't walk to the side or take a secondary seat. He walked straight to the head of the table—the absolute seat of power reserved exclusively for the chairman and CEO—and pulled out the heavy leather chair.

He sat down, slowly folding his hands in front of him.

Roger swallowed hard, his voice shaking as he stood up half an inch from his seat. “Baldric... let’s... let’s not be hasty. This is a family dispute. We can settle this regarding Arianne. We can grant full custody, generous alimony, whatever terms—”

“Sit down, Roger,” Baldric said.

The two words were spoken quietly, without anger, but they carried the crushing weight of an avalanche. Roger slowly collapsed back into his leather chair, trembling.

Baldric slid a single manila folder across the marble table. It stopped right in front of Derek, who flinched as if it were a loaded weapon.

“Do you know what this is, Derek?” Baldric asked, his eyes locking onto his son-in-law with an icy, predatory focus.

Derek couldn't speak. He stared at the folder, his chest heaving.

“That’s the audit report for every shell company you’ve been using to siphon funds from Arianne’s personal trust and launder money through your father’s real estate developments,” Baldric said smoothly. “It includes bank records from the Cayman Islands, text messages threatening my daughter, and medical records from the private clinic where you paid a corrupt doctor to forge psychiatric evaluations.”

Derek lunged forward, his face red with blind panic. “You have no proof! That’s corporate espionage! I’ll have you arrested!”

Before Derek could finish his sentence, the boardroom doors opened again. Two federal agents from the Department of Justice, accompanied by the state attorney general’s chief investigator, walked silently into the room.