Chapter 4 - The Boardroom’s WrathBy 10:00 AM, the sanctuary of Malcolm’s mansion was shattered by the violent buzz of a secure line.
Malcolm stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his second-floor study, nursing a cup of black coffee, watching the rain clear into a pale, watery sunlight. Down on the manicured lawn, Maisie and Evie were chasing each other through the garden, their childish laughter drifting faintly up through the glass.
His phone buzzed incessantly on the mahogany desk.
He finally picked it up and hit speakerphone.
"Malcolm! Where in God’s name are you?"
The voice exploded from the phone—loud, frantic, and furious. It belonged to Julian Vance, the Senior Vice President of Reed Global Enterprises and Malcolm’s ruthless corporate attack dog.
"I'm at home, Julian," Malcolm said evenly.
"At home? The quarterly investor meeting starts in twenty minutes! The Board of Directors is sitting in the penthouse conference room right now, and the Japanese delegation is staring at empty chairs! Have you lost your mind?" Julian roared. "Pick up your keys and get down here. Now."
"I'm not coming in today, Julian," Malcolm replied, taking a calm sip of his coffee.
A heavy silence dropped over the line. When Julian spoke again, his voice was dangerously quiet.
"What did you just say?"
"I said, I am taking the day off. Cancel the morning sessions. Reschedule the Japanese delegation for Thursday."
"Reschedule?" Julian laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. "Malcolm, do you know how many millions are riding on this signature? You can't just flake on a multi-national merger because you feel like sleeping in! What is going on with you? Is this about that rumor floating around?"
Malcolm frowned. "What rumor?"
"Half the executive floor is buzzing," Julian hissed. "Security logs from your private residence flagged an intrusion last night. Word is, you brought some homeless woman and her kid into your mansion off the street. Tell me that’s a joke. Tell me the billionaire CEO of Reed Global hasn't lost his marbles and turned his house into a charity shelter."
Malcolm’s grip on the ceramic mug tightened until his knuckles turned white.
"It’s not a joke, Julian. They are staying here."
"Have you completely snapped?" Julian shouted, losing all professional composure. "Do you have any idea what that looks like? If the press gets wind of this—if the shareholders find out you're harboring members of the Murphy family—"
"The Murphy family?" Malcolm’s voice cut across the line like a razor.
"Yes! Clara Murphy! Everyone in the financial district knows who she is! Her father was Arthur Murphy—the old fool who tried to sue us into oblivion before his heart gave out!" Julian spat venomously. "That family hates us, Malcolm! They’ve been trying to dig up dirt on us for five years! If you let her inside your home, she could plant listening devices, steal corporate files, or leak confidential documents to the press! Throw them out on the street where they belong, or I swear to God, I’ll call corporate security to do it myself!"
Malcolm stared out the window, watching Clara through the glass. She was sitting on a stone bench, watching Evie play, her posture still tense and guarded, but her face touched by a brief, fragile ray of sunlight.
"Listen to me very carefully, Julian," Malcolm said, his voice dropping into a lethal, glacial whisper. "If any member of security—or anyone else from the office—ever sets foot on my property without my direct permission, I will fire every last one of you before you can blink."
"Malcolm—"
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"The meeting is canceled, Julian. Deal with it."
Malcolm slammed his finger down on the screen, cutting the call dead. He stood in the silence of his study, his heart pounding, realizing with terrifying clarity that the war he thought he had won five years ago was only just beginning.
