Chapter 6 - THE SHARK TANKThe boardroom of Mercer Dynamics on the 80th floor was a masterpiece of glass, steel, and minimalist design.
When I walked in at exactly 8:55 AM on Monday morning, the remaining senior executives—men who had bowed to Damian and treated me like an invisible ghost—were already seated. None of them looked at my face. They stared fixedly at the polished mahogany table, their hands trembling slightly over their leather portfolios.
They knew what happened to Blackthorne Capital. They knew that in less than sixty seconds, I had vaporized a ten-billion-dollar hedge fund without breaking a sweat.
I took my seat at the head of the table—the chair that had belonged to Grandfather Elias, and which Damian had spent five years trying to steal.
"Good morning," I said.
The sound of my voice caused three senior vice presidents to flinch simultaneously.
"Chief Financial Officer Robert Vance," I called out, my eyes locking onto a sweating, middle-aged man with thinning gray hair. Robert was Damian’s uncle by marriage, installed to funnel company R&D funds into Blackthorne’s shell accounts.
Robert swallowed hard, adjusting his silk tie with a shaky hand. "Y-yes, Mara—I mean, Madam CEO."
"Your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands were frozen by federal authorities at 4:30 AM," I stated evenly, sliding a thin manila folder across the table toward him. "You have until noon to sign a full confession and hand over your stock options, or you will share a jail cell with your nephew by dinner time."
Robert stared at the folder like it was a venomous snake. Without uttering a single word of defense, he grabbed a gold pen, signed his resignation letter, and scurried out of the boardroom without looking back.
I looked around the table at the remaining executives.
"Anyone else have an issue with my management style?" I asked softly.
May you like
Silence hung heavy in the room. Not a single person moved.
"Good. Meeting adjourned. Go back to work."
