Chapter 12 - The Boardroom Ambush
The top-floor boardroom of Moretti Global Headquarters was a fortress of glass, steel, and cold ambition. Twelve board members sat around an expansive, obsidian-glass table that overlooked the snow-capped skyline of the city. At the head sat Harrison Vance—Marcus’s ruthless cousin and the remaining corporate architect of the hostile takeover attempt.
When Lorenzo and I walked through the double glass doors, the chatter in the room instantly died down to an oppressive, dead silence. I wore a tailored midnight-blue maternity blazer, my posture rigid and composed, standing right beside Lorenzo as an equal partner rather than a background observer.
Harrison Vance stood up, adjusting his custom-fitted Italian suit with a smug, condescending smirk.
"Well, well. Look who decided to show up," Harrison sneered, pacing slowly toward us. "The prodigal son returns, accompanied by... what is she? Your domestic housekeeper? Lorenzo, the federal raids are all over the morning papers. Moretti Global’s stock has plummeted twenty-two percent in forty-eight hours. To protect the shareholders, this board is officially invoking Clause 14 to strip you of executive authority."
A chorus of murmurs rippled through the compliant board members. They thought they had engineered a bloodless coup while the family was distracted by domestic violence and criminal sieges.
Lorenzo didn't flinch. He didn't raise his voice. He simply walked to the head of the table, pulled out the main seat, and sat down with terrifying calm.
"Clause 14 requires a unanimous seventy-five percent voting quorum of active, uncompromised equity holders," Lorenzo said smoothly, resting his elbows on the glass table. "Let’s look at who’s actually sitting at this table, Harrison."
With a flick of his wrist, Lorenzo synced his secure tablet to the massive overhead digital projector.
The screen instantly flashed with high-resolution bank statements, wire transfers, and signed collusion agreements. Every single document bore Harrison Vance’s signature alongside Aurelia’s dead-name shell corporations.
The color drained entirely from Harrison’s face. The smug smirk vanished, replaced by sudden, frantic panic.
May you like
"Those... those are forged!" Harrison stammered, his voice cracking slightly as the board members turned to glare at him with sudden, violent hostility. "You can't prove—"
"The federal prosecutor’s office already authenticated every single byte of data this morning," Lorenzo interrupted, his voice dropping an octave into a lethal hiss. "And as for your voting shares, Harrison? Your accounts were frozen by Interpol thirty minutes ago under the RICO Act. You don't represent the shareholders anymore. You represent a prison cell."
