Chapter 6 - The Boardroom at Nine AM
At 8:45 AM on the morning after Christmas, the glass-and-steel boardroom of Vance Industries in downtown Denver was an arena of pure corporate dread.
The temperature outside was twelve degrees below zero, but inside the forty-second floor suite, the air was suffocatingly hot.
Twelve members of the board of directors—men in bespoke charcoal suits who controlled shipping ports, aerospace manufacturing contracts, and defense supply chains across North America—sat around the fifty-foot conference table in total silence.
At the head of the table sat Beatrice Vance.
She had slept perhaps two hours. Her platinum hair was pulled back into a severe bun, her makeup thick and chalky beneath the recessed LED fixtures, trying and failing to conceal the deep, purple hollows under her eyes. Beside her sat Arthur Sterling and two senior corporate litigation attorneys from New York.
"The situation from last night is an isolated domestic complication," Beatrice said, her voice shaking slightly despite her best efforts to project boardroom authority. "The woman is an unstable former service member seeking a settlement. We have already initiated a motion for a gag order and an emergency paternity injunction in the county court."
The double doors of the boardroom swung open with a sharp, concussive bang.
Julian stepped through the entrance.
He did not wear his Dress Blues. He wore a tailored dark navy suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark blue tie—the civilian uniform of an executive who had just assumed command.
Beside him walked Clara, dressed in a sharp wool overcoat and dark slacks, her posture straight, her chin lifted.
And behind them, accompanied by two former Marine reconnaissance officers Julian had called at dawn, walked the four boys.
Leo, Caleb, Eli, and Noah walked in single file, their wool sweaters clean, their slate-gray eyes scanning the boardroom with the same quiet, unbothered intelligence that had defined General Thomas Vance for fifty years.
The twelve board members rose to their feet as one man.
Arthur Sterling turned pale, his hands trembling as he closed his leather portfolio. "Julian..."
Julian didn't look at Sterling. He walked directly to the head of the table, stopped three feet from his mother, and placed the General’s manila envelope squarely in the center of the mahogany blotter.
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"Good morning, Mother," Julian said, his voice flat, clean, and carrying the authority of an absolute commander.
"The board meeting will now come to order."
