Chapter 6 - THE BOARDROOM The glass doors of the boardroom swung open.
Twelve board members, men and women in immaculate suits, turned to look at me. At the head of the table sat Richard Vanguard, looking smug. Vivienne sat beside him, refusing to meet my eyes.
"Ah, Luca. How kind of you to join us," Richard said, steepling his fingers. "We were just concluding a vote."
"A vote to remove me from the company I built," I said, walking slowly toward the table. I didn't wear a tie. I still wore the jacket from last night. I placed the dented green lunchbox on the polished mahogany table.
Several board members exchanged nervous glances.
"Luca, your behavior recently has been erratic," one of the board members, a loyalist to Richard, spoke up. "Skipping your father's memorial, breaking your engagement, acting aggressively toward our majority investors... We believe you need a leave of absence."
"A permanent one," Richard added smoothly. "Sign the severance papers, Luca. You’ll be compensated well. Walk away before things get ugly."
"They're already ugly, Richard," I said. I unlatched the lunchbox. The snap echoed loudly in the quiet room.
I pulled out the original deed of incorporation and slid it down the table.
"That is the true founding document of this company," I said, my voice echoing off the glass walls. "Before Richard Vanguard bought his way in, this company was split fifty-fifty between myself and Peter Bennett."
Richard scoffed. "A forgery. The boy died twenty years ago."
"He did," I agreed, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "In a fire that started mysteriously, right after he refused to sell you his engine patents."
Murmurs broke out around the table.
"This is slander!" Vivienne stood up, her face flushed.
I reached into the lunchbox again and pulled out my father’s journal, along with the Vanguard Equities ledgers.
"This," I dropped the ledgers onto the table, "is proof that Vanguard Equities has been systematically embezzling from a trust fund set up for Peter Bennett's family for two decades. They’ve been siphoning the money through shell accounts to artificially inflate our quarterly earnings."
The room went dead silent. The board members leaned forward, staring at the ledgers. Even corporate sharks knew that touching trust funds was a one-way ticket to federal prison.
"You’re lying," Richard snarled, but a bead of sweat appeared on his temple.
"My father tracked every dime," I said. "He didn't trust you, Richard. He knew what you did. And now, so does the FBI."
The color drained from Richard’s face. "You didn't."
"I stopped at the federal prosecutor’s office on my way here," I lied bluffing just enough to watch him crack. "They have copies of everything in this box."
Before Richard could speak, the boardroom doors opened again.
Arthur walked in. He wasn't wearing his chauffeur’s uniform. He wore a sharp suit I hadn't seen him wear in years.
"Excuse the interruption," Arthur said, his voice carrying the authority of a man who had seen it all. "But Mr. Rossi has a guest."
From behind Arthur, a small figure emerged.
May you like
Leo. He was wearing his best Sunday shirt, clutching Mrs. Bennett’s hand.
I looked at the board. "You can't vote me out, Richard. Because I don't own the controlling shares anymore." I pointed to the six-year-old boy. "He does."
