Chapter 2 - The Boardroom MassacreThe morning air was brisk as the tinted black sedan pulled up to the glass-and-steel skyscraper that bore the name GRANT HOLDINGS in towering silver letters.
Michael walked through the mahogany doors of the executive floor, his chest puffed out, wearing a tailored Italian suit. Amber walked a step behind him, clicking her high heels loudly against the marble floor, dripping in diamond jewelry—including my Paris bracelet. She looked around the office as if measuring the windows for new drapes.
"Good morning, Mr. Grant," his secretary stammered, her face pale, her eyes darting nervously toward the main boardroom.
"Morning, Brenda," Michael said smoothly, adjusting his cufflinks. "Have the board members arrived for the quarterly review?"
"Yes, sir... but... they asked that you go straight in. They've already started."
Michael frowned slightly, annoyed by the breach of protocol, but quickly brushed it off. He grabbed Amber’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "Watch how a master handles his domain, my sweet. By noon, we’ll own ninety percent of this company outright."
He pushed open the heavy double doors of the boardroom, a confident, patronizing smile playing on his lips. "Gentlemen, I apologize for the brief delay, but—"
Michael’s voice cut off instantly.
The entire board of directors was seated around the long oval table, their faces grim, cold, and unreadable. But it wasn't the board members who stopped Michael in his tracks.
It was the woman sitting at the head of the table.
I was sitting in the CEO's high-backed leather chair. I was dressed in a sharp, bespoke charcoal suit, my grey hair styled with precision, my posture perfectly erect. To my right sat Susan Vance, my lead attorney. To my left sat Arthur Vance, holding a thick, black leather-bound ledger.
Michael’s jaw dropped. Amber gasped, her hand flying to her throat.
"Evelyn?" Michael stammered, his eyes widening in utter disbelief. "What... what are you doing here? You're supposed to be in bed! You're recovering from major surgery!"
"I recovered faster than you anticipated, Michael," I said calmly, resting my hands neatly on the mahogany table. "Please, take a seat. Both of you."
Michael’s face flushed a deep, furious red. "Have you lost your mind? This is a private board meeting! You have no standing here! Security! Get this woman out of my building!"
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Nobody moved. The two security guards standing by the door remained frozen, their hands folded neatly in front of them, eyes fixed straight ahead.
"Security works for the executive committee, Michael," Susan Vance interjected, sliding a thick legal document across the polished table. "And as of six o'clock this morning, you are no longer the Chief Executive Officer of Grant Holdings."
