Chapter 4 - The Boardroom and the Threat
The next morning, the boardrooms of Vance Global were burning.
Marcus Henderson, my senior vice chairman and the snake who had been quietly plotting a hostile takeover behind my back for months, leaned across the glass conference table with a predatory grin.
“Julian, the stock is down two points because of market rumors regarding your... domestic situation,” Henderson purred, adjusting his diamond-encrusted cufflinks. “Wall Street likes stability. They don't like a CEO who spends his nights chasing hotel maids through the subway with a nonverbal child.”
The twenty executives around the table murmured in agreement. They were jackals, smelling blood in the water, believing my personal distraction was their opening to strip the company away from my family’s legacy.
“My personal life is none of your concern, Marcus,” I said, my voice cold and flat as I looked down at the quarterly reports.
“It becomes our concern when your distraction affects shareholder value,” Henderson shot back, slamming his hand on the table. “Rumor has it you’re spending millions on experimental treatments for a boy who will never lead a normal life. Maybe it’s time the board voted on an interim CEO while you take a permanent leave of absence to manage your... family obligations.”
The room went dead silent. The coup had begun. They thought I was broken because my son was hurting. They thought my love for Leo was a liability they could exploit to steal my empire.
“You want my seat, Marcus?” I asked softly, standing up slowly and buttoning my suit jacket. I leaned over the table, bringing my face inches from his, letting the full, ruthless weight of my authority crash down on him. “Try it. Call the vote. But before you do, remember every single offshore account, every hidden loan, and every shady land acquisition you’ve made over the past five years is sitting in a locked folder in my desk. Push me, and I won't just ruin your career; I’ll send you to federal prison for the rest of your natural life.”
Henderson’s face lost all its color. He swallowed hard, sinking back into his leather chair without another word.
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I walked out of the boardroom before the meeting was even adjourned. But as I rode the private elevator down to my subterranean garage, I knew Henderson was right about one thing: I couldn't fight a corporate war on Wall Street while my son was suffering in a gilded cage upstairs.
I needed Savannah Reeves. Not as an employee. But as an ally.
