Chapter 8 - The Microphone Drop
Behind us, the giant LED screens flanking the stage suddenly flickered.
Brit, working from the technician's booth at the back of the room, overrode the presentation feed. Instead of Landon’s glossy slides detailing his multi-million-dollar energy patents, the screens displayed high-resolution scans of the forensic audit: the forged signatures, the fraudulent wire transfers, the unauthorized ninety-thousand-dollar draw from Sloane’s firm, and the offshore routing sheets leading directly to Aveline Holdings.
Gasps echoed through the room. Several prominent venture capitalists immediately stood up, whipping out their phones to photograph the evidence.
"This is a lie! This is a smear campaign engineered by a bitter, estranged spouse!" Landon shouted, his voice cracking through the speakers as he grabbed the podium with both hands. "I built this company! I hold the intellectual property rights!"
"You hold nothing, Landon," Sloane announced, stepping onto the stage stairs with undeniable authority. "As of 8:45 this morning, the managing partners of Bennett & Cole have terminated all venture funding agreements. Furthermore, we have filed an immediate report with the Securities and Exchange Commission for cross-border securities fraud."
Martin Vance stepped up beside her, holding out the stamped court documents toward Landon. "Mr. Vance, you are hereby served with an emergency restraining order and asset freezing injunction. Furthermore, two county deputies are waiting at the side exit to take you in for questioning regarding grand larceny and corporate embezzlement."
Landon looked from the screens to the sea of horrified, disgusted faces in the audience. The investors he had spent two years cultivating were already gathering their briefcases, shaking their heads in disgust, and walking out the side doors. His empire of cards had collapsed in less than ninety seconds.
His gaze dropped to me. The charismatic, untouchable golden boy was gone. In his place was a hollow, desperate charlatan whose greed had finally stripped him bare.
"Harper..." he whispered, his microphone picking up his ragged, pleading breath. "Please. Think about our family. Think about your father..."
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"Do not ever speak my father’s name again," I said, my voice steady, clear, and devoid of tears.
I dropped the microphone onto the stage floor. The heavy metal base hit the wood with a booming, final thud that resonated throughout the emptying room. Without looking back, I turned on my heel and walked out beside Sloane, leaving him alone under the harsh glare of the spotlights.
