Chapter 12 - The Boardroom Ambush
On Monday morning, the final cleanup began.
The corporate board of Mercer Holdings convened on the fifty-second floor of my downtown headquarters.
Three board members—men who had secretly taken payouts from Evelyn Vance to facilitate the hostile takeover of my company—sat nervously around the mahogany table.
They adjusted their silk ties.
They drank ice water from crystal glasses.
They thought they were attending a routine emergency strategy session.
At exactly ten o'clock, the frosted glass doors opened.
I walked in, flanked by Katherine Ross and two federal forensic accountants.
The board members froze in their leather chairs.
"Good morning, gentlemen," I said, dropping three thick black binders onto the center of the table.
The heavy binders landed with a thud that rattled the water glasses.
"As you know, the Vance family’s offshore accounts have been seized by the Department of Justice."
"Along with those accounts, the DOJ acquired the complete transaction histories for several domestic consulting firms."
I tapped the first binder with my index finger.
"Including the private accounts of Vice Chairman Sterling."
Sterling, a silver-haired man in his late sixties, turned ghostly white.
"Alex... this is an internal corporate matter," Sterling stammered, his hand shaking as he touched his coffee cup. "We can handle this without federal interference—"
"This isn't an internal matter, Sterling," Katherine Ross interrupted, stepping forward with her badge displayed.
"This is corporate treason and money laundering."
"Federal agents are currently executing search warrants at your homes in Malibu and Palm Springs."
"You have two choices," I told the three men, leaning forward across the table.
"You can surrender your shares back to the company at par value, sign full resignations, and cooperate fully with Miss Ross’s prosecution."
"Or you can spend the next fifteen years sharing a cell block with Captain Miller in Victorville."
Sterling looked at the other two directors.
Neither man would meet his gaze.
Within ten minutes, all three men had signed their resignation letters with shaking hands.
As the federal marshals escorted them out through the lobby, I stood at the massive glass window looking out over the Los Angeles skyline.
The sun was bright and clear.
The fog had completely burned away.
Daniel stepped up beside me, handing me a fresh cup of black coffee.
"The perimeter team finished sweeping the Bel-Air property, sir," Daniel said.
"Every camera feed has been re-encrypted."
"New biometric locks on all exterior entries."
"The bunker has been converted into a secondary wine cellar."
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"No more secrets in that house, Daniel," I said, taking a sip of the hot coffee.
"No more secrets, sir," Daniel agreed with a rare, genuine smile.
