Chapter 55 - The Boardroom of Shadows
The glass-and-steel monolith of Apex Tower pierced the grey, drizzling sky of London like a silver blade.
Inside the grand seventy-fifth-floor boardroom, the atmosphere was suffocating. Thirty of the world's most powerful institutional investors, hedge fund titans, and corporate directors sat around the forty-foot mahogany table. At the head of the table sat Richard Montgomery, his smug, calculating grin betraying his absolute confidence.
Beside him sat a figure shrouded in an exquisite black mourning dress and a heavy Spanish lace veil. Her posture was aristocratic, terrifyingly composed. Even through the dark lace, the piercing, serpentine eyes of Helena Harrell scanned the room like a hawk watching mice.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Montgomery announced, tapping his Montblanc pen against the polished wood. "As you are well aware, Mrs. Phoebe Vance has been incapacitated following an unfortunate security incident in Italy. Her husband, Ethan Vance, is officially listed as missing and presumed deceased following a severe ballistic trauma."
A murmur of nervous agreement rippled through the room.
"Under the emergency provisions of the Leviathan Trust," Montgomery continued, gesturing toward the veiled woman, "I motion that sole executive authority over the merged assets of Harrell Maritime and Apex Strategy be restored to the surviving matriarch, Victoria Vance."
"I object," a voice rang out from the far end of the table.
Montgomery frowned. "On what grounds, Director Campbell?"
"On the grounds that Victoria Vance has been dead for twenty years," the doors of the boardroom exploded open.
The double mahogany doors slammed against the reinforced walls with the force of a battering ram.
Four armed security contractors in immaculate black suits stepped into the room, fanning out with military precision. Behind them strode Julian Vance, his coat billowing, eyes scanning every director with lethal scrutiny.
And between them walked Phoebe Vance.
She did not look like a woman who had spent the last forty-eight hours dodging assassins. She wore a tailored, floor-length crimson gown that accentuated her high, proud cheekbones and proudly outlined her pregnant belly. Her raven hair was swept up into an intricate chignon, fastened with a diamond hairpin shaped like a coiled serpent. Her stride was regal, devastatingly powerful, echoing through the cavernous boardroom like a war drum.
Beside her, walking with rigid, terrifying grace despite the sling supporting his left arm beneath his custom charcoal-grey Savile Row suit, was Ethan Vance.
His face was pale, his jaw set in stone, but the dark, murderous fury radiating from his eyes caused three corporate directors in the front row to physically recoil in their chairs.
"Ethan..." Montgomery gasped, dropping his pen. "You're... you were shot through the chest!"
"It takes more than a two-dollar mercenary to put a Vance in the ground, Montgomery," Ethan’s voice cut through the silence like a jagged blade of ice. He stopped at the foot of the table, his right hand resting possessively, protectively over Phoebe’s waist.
Phoebe stepped forward, her eyes locking onto the veiled woman at the head of the table.
"You look lovely in black, Aunt Helena," Phoebe said, her voice clear, commanding, and merciless. "You always did have a taste for funerals."
May you like
The boardroom erupted into chaos.
***
