Chapter 7 - The Boardroom Ambush
Wednesday morning, 9:00 a.m.
The executive boardroom of Crestview Asset Management sat on the forty-fourth floor of a gleaming glass skyscraper in downtown Manhattan. The twenty-seat mahogany conference table was set with fine china, custom leather folders, and crystal water carafes.
Rowan sat near the middle of the table, adjusting his tie with damp, nervous fingers. He hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. His eyes were bloodshot, and he had used half a bottle of cologne to mask the sour smell of cold sweat.
He was banking everything on this meeting. Crestview was pitching a major multi-million-dollar fund expansion, and Rowan had spent weeks preparing to position himself as the lead portfolio manager. If he secured this promotion, his annual salary would triple, giving him the leverage he desperately needed to fight Phoebe’s father.
Marcus Vance (no relation to my mother), the CEO of Crestview, cleared his throat and stood at the head of the table.
“Gentlemen,” Marcus announced, “before we begin our quarterly review, I have an extraordinary announcement. As you know, we have been seeking an anchor investor for our Global Growth Fund. This morning, our majority shareholder and principal client has decided to attend our session in person.”
Rowan’s heart skipped a beat. If a major billionaire investor was coming, this was his moment to shine. He sat up straight, plastering a confident, winning smile across his face.
The heavy frosted-glass doors swung open.
First walked in two corporate attorneys carrying heavy leather briefcases. Behind them came Gideon Sterling, looking regal and indomitable in a charcoal three-piece bespoke suit.
And walking right beside Gideon, dressed in an immaculate ivory tailored pantsuit, holding a slim leather folder, was me.
Rowan’s confident smile didn’t just vanish—his entire body went rigid as if he had been struck by lightning. He gripped the edge of the conference table so hard his knuckles turned white.
“P-Phoebe?” he gasped, unable to stop himself.
Several board members turned to look at Rowan with raised eyebrows.
“Ah, Rowan, you recognize our guests?” Marcus said with a warm smile. “Let me formally introduce Mr. Gideon Sterling, founder of Sterling Capital, and his daughter, Ms. Phoebe Sterling—who, as of eight o’clock this morning, has been appointed Chief Risk Officer and Senior Auditor for all Sterling Capital holdings, including Crestview.”
The room erupted into polite applause from the executives. Rowan looked like he was about to vomit.
“Good morning, everyone,” I said, my voice clear, melodious, and completely devoid of warmth. I took the seat directly across the table from Rowan. Gideon took the seat at the head of the table beside Marcus.
“Thank you, Marcus,” I continued, opening my folder. “I know today’s agenda was meant for portfolio expansion. However, in my first three hours reviewing Crestview’s compliance records, I discovered several severe operational irregularities that must be addressed immediately before any further capital is allocated.”
The room went completely quiet. The other partners looked around nervously.
“Irregularities, Ms. Sterling?” Marcus asked, his expression instantly serious. “What kind of irregularities?”
“Specifically, systemic embezzlement, unauthorized fee diversions, and client account falsification,” I said, sliding three thick bound copies down the table. “Conducted over the past eighteen months by one of your senior portfolio managers.”
I turned my eyes directly onto Rowan.
“Rowan Miller.”
The temperature in the room plummeted to sub-zero.
“Phoebe, wait!” Rowan stood up abruptly, knocking his chair back. “Marcus, this is a personal dispute! She’s my wife! We’re going through a domestic disagreement, and she’s using her family’s influence to attack me! This is completely unprofessional!”
“Sit down, Mr. Miller,” Gideon commanded. His voice wasn’t loud, but the sheer authority in it made Rowan’s knees buckle, forcing him back into his seat.
“On screen one,” I said calmly, clicking a small remote control.
The giant presentation monitors lit up. High-definition scans of wire transfers, forged client signatures, offshore bank account logs in Belize, and fraudulent consulting invoices filled the screens.
“Over four hundred and eighty thousand dollars siphoned into Miller Capital Consulting,” I detailed with surgical precision. “Co-signed by Rowan Miller and his mother, Selina Miller. In addition, three hundred and fifty thousand dollars in unauthorized debt racked up via forged identity theft applications.”
The board members gasped. Marcus Vance’s face turned from confusion to absolute, incandescent fury.
“Rowan...” Marcus growled, leaning forward. “Is this true?”
“Marcus, I can explain—it was an accounting error—the offshore account was a hedge—!” Rowan babbled, sweat literally dripping from his chin onto his pristine blue tie.
“An accounting error?” I smiled coldly. “Then perhaps you can explain why the IP address used to authorize these transfers matches your office workstation, your personal laptop, and the WiFi network at the vineyard hotel you stayed at this past weekend while celebrating your mother’s birthday?”
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The room fell into dead, suffocating silence. Rowan looked around at his colleagues, but every single person looked at him with sheer disgust.
“Rowan Miller,” Marcus Vance said, his voice trembling with anger. “You are terminated immediately for gross criminal misconduct. Security is already clearing your desk. And the New York District Attorney’s office has already been notified.”
