Chapter 3 - The Uninvited Guest
The Wade Development corporate headquarters occupied the top two floors of a gleaming glass mid-rise on Tryon Street. At eight o’clock on Monday morning, the lobby was bustling with young analysts, polished brokers, and couriers carrying blueprints. I wore an ivory tailored suit, four-inch heels, and sunglasses I took off the moment the elevator doors parted on the twenty-fourth floor.
Preston’s executive assistant, a sweet woman named Clara who had helped me pick out floral arrangements three weeks ago, gasped when she saw me.
"Simone! I... Mr. Wade said you wouldn't be coming in this week. He said you were taking personal time."
"Mr. Wade is confused," I said calmly, offering her a polite smile. "Is the executive committee in the main boardroom?"
"Yes, but they’re in a closed investor briefing with Mr. Sinclair—"
I didn't wait for her to finish. I walked past the mahogany reception desk, my heels striking the marble tiles in a measured, rhythmic cadence. I gripped my leather portfolio under one arm, feeling the weight of the court-stamped preliminary injunction Julian had secured at seven o’clock that morning from an emergency judge.
I pushed the heavy double doors of the boardroom open without knocking.
The conversation instantly ground to a halt. Preston was standing at the head of the long walnut table, projecting a 3D rendering of the new luxury high-rise. Gerald Sinclair sat to his right, looking like an old-money predator in bespoke pinstripes. Sitting beside Gerald, wearing an immaculate blush-pink blazer, was Bri Sinclair. Her notebook was open, her fountain pen poised mid-sentence.
Preston dropped his clicker onto the blotter. "Simone. What the hell are you doing here?"
"Good morning, gentlemen. Bri," I acknowledged smoothly, stepping into the room and letting the doors shut behind me. "I apologize for interrupting your presentation on the Eastside tower, but there’s a minor administrative issue that requires immediate attention."
"This is a private board meeting," Gerald Sinclair said, his voice deep, gravelly, and entirely dismissive. "Young lady, whatever domestic dispute you and Preston have belongs outside these offices. Clara, call security."
"Clara can call security if she likes, Mr. Sinclair, but security can’t override a writ of attachment issued by the Mecklenburg County Superior Court," I said, stepping forward and sliding three thick packets across the table. One landed squarely in front of Preston, one before Gerald, and the third directly in front of Bri.
Bri looked down at the document. When she saw the red court seal and the words FRAUDULENT CONVEYANCE AND FORGERY INVESTIGATION, the color drained from her cheeks so fast she looked ghostlike.
"What is this nonsense?" Preston stammered, picking up the papers with hands that weren't entirely steady.
"It’s a formal notice of freeze on the Catawba River trust assets," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "It turns out that forging my signature to back a thirty-million-dollar construction loan isn't just a breach of contract; it’s a Class C felony. And having your twenty-six-year-old mistress notarize a forged deed in a county where her commission isn't even legally registered? That’s just sloppy."
The silence in the room was suffocating.
Two senior board members glanced down at their papers, their eyes widening as they read the attached exhibits. Gerald Sinclair slowly turned his head to look at his daughter, his expression shifting from arrogance to furious realization.
"Brianna," Gerald said, his voice dangerously low. "Did you sign this document?"
"Dad, I... Preston said Simone had authorized it verbally," Bri stammered, shrinking back into her leather chair. "He told me the power of attorney was on file in the vault!"
"You lied to my daughter?" Gerald snapped, turning on Preston like a coiled viper.
"Wait, Gerald, let me explain!" Preston pleaded, holding his hands up defensively. He looked at me, panic flaring behind his polished exterior. "Simone, we can fix this. We're partners. This was for our future—yours and mine! The development was going to be ours!"
"Our future ended the second you used a microphone to kick me out of my own party to impress the Sinclairs," I said, leaning over the table so my face was only inches from his. "You didn't want a partner, Preston. You wanted an unpaid accountant and a scapegoat. Check page twelve."
Preston turned the page frantically.
"As the majority beneficiary of the Vance Trust," I said, letting every word ring out with diamond-edged clarity, "I have exercised my right to call the collateral note due immediately. You have forty-eight hours to replace thirty million dollars in liquid funds, or the sheriff's office locks these doors. Have a productive meeting."
May you like
I turned on my heel and walked out of the boardroom, leaving behind the sound of Gerald Sinclair slamming his fist onto the table and screaming at the top of his lungs.
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