flash
The voice on the other end of the line was crisp, deliberate, and undeniably powerful. It belonged to Arthur Vance—the formidable forensic accountant and former federal investigator whom Michael had tried, and failed, to destroy a decade ago. / Chapter 4 / 8

Chapter 4 - The Fall of the KingMichael took a step backward, grabbing the edge of a chair to steady himself. "You... you set me up."

"You set yourself up, Michael," I replied coolly. "I merely gave you enough rope to hang yourself. For two years, every time you thought you were cleverly hiding a transaction, Arthur was tracking it. Every time you left the house under the pretense of a 'business trip,' we were documenting every dime you spent from the corporate account."

Amber was now practically hyperventilating. "Michael, do something! Call our lawyers! You said she was powerless! You said she was an old hag who didn't know anything about business!"

"I told you to be quiet!" Michael screamed at her, his composure completely shattering. The smooth, refined billionaire had vanished, replaced by a desperate, cornered animal.

"Mr. Grant," spoke up Harold Jenkins, the oldest member of the board and a man who had been Michael's friend for thirty years. Harold looked at Michael with deep disappointment and disdain. "We have just voted unanimously. Your executive powers are revoked, effective immediately. Your access to all corporate accounts, offices, and property has been terminated. You have five minutes to surrender your keycards and leave the building."

"You can't do this to me!" Michael roared, slamming his fist onto the table. "I AM GRANT HOLDINGS!"

"No, Michael," I said softly, standing up from my chair and buttoning my suit jacket. "You were just the frontman. And your show has just been canceled."

Susan signaled to the security guards. They stepped forward, placing firm hands on Michael's shoulders.

"Get your hands off me!" Michael sneered, trying to shove them away, but the guards were unyielding. They escorted a stumbling, shouting Michael and a weeping Amber out of the executive boardroom, down the hallway, and into the private elevator.

As the doors closed on his screaming face, silence returned to the boardroom. The board members turned to me, rising to their feet one by one. Harold Jenkins walked over, extending his hand.

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"Welcome back, Chief," Harold said respectfully.

I took his hand and gave it a firm shake. "Thank you, Harold. Now, let's get to work. We have a company to clean up."

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