Chapter 5 - The Boardroom Coup
The emergency board meeting stretched into the afternoon.
By 2:00 PM, the tension on the forty-second floor was so thick you could cut it with a putty knife. Miss Higgins, Vivian’s longtime executive assistant, was pacing near the coffee station, wringing her hands so hard her knuckles were raw.
“They’re going to invoke Clause 14,” Miss Higgins whispered frantically as I walked past with my toolbox. “Medical incapacity and conflict of interest. Richard Vance has the votes. He’s going to strip her of her CEO title by sundown and place her on an involuntary medical leave of absence.”
I stopped. “Can they do that?”
“If the board votes yes, yes,” Higgins said, tears welling in her eyes. “And the worst part is... Vivian isn't even fighting back the way she usually does. She’s exhausted, Dale. Since Eli’s diagnosis, she’s been carrying the weight of the entire company on one shoulder and her son’s soul on the other. If they take Cole Meridian away from her, I don't know what will happen to her.”
I stood there for a moment, looking down at my steel-toed boots.
Then I looked at the heavy mahogany doors of the boardroom.
“Higgins,” I said quietly.
“Yes, Dale?”
“When was the last time anyone cleaned the air filtration ducts in that boardroom?”
She blinked, confused by the sudden pivot. “I... I have no idea. Annual maintenance?”
“Annual maintenance was supposed to be in March,” I said, picking up my toolbox. “It’s July. The airflow in there is terrible. People get irritable when they breathe stale carbon dioxide for four hours. Makes them cranky. Makes them make bad, hasty decisions.”
Higgins stared at me, her eyes widening as she caught the glint in my eye. “Dale... what are you doing?”
“I’m just doing my job, Miss Higgins,” I said, walking straight toward the double doors. “Routine maintenance. Can’t have the board of directors passing out from bad ventilation.”
Before she could stop me, I tapped twice on the mahogany door with my knuckles and walked right in without waiting for an answer.
All twelve members of the board of directors turned sharply toward the entrance.
Richard Vance was standing at the head of the polished oak table, holding a stack of printed legal documents, looking triumphant. Vivian sat at the opposite end, her posture rigid, her face pale, staring down at her hands.
“What is the meaning of this interruption?” Vance snapped, his face flushing red with indignation. “We are in a private, closed-door executive session! Security! Get this—this janitor out of here immediately!”
I didn't flinch. I walked right to the corner of the room where the primary ventilation intake vent was located on the wall, set my toolbox down with a heavy, deliberate thud, and pulled out a Phillips-head screwdriver.
“Sorry to interrupt, Mr. Vance,” I said, my voice carrying easily across the silent room. “Facilities ticket. Work order 404. High carbon dioxide levels reported in the executive suite. If I don't clear the filters right now, the automatic fire dampers are going to trip and lock these doors from the outside.”
“We don't care about the damn filters!” Vance roared, slamming his fist on the table. “Get out before I have you fired and escorted off the premises by police!”
“Richard, sit down,” Vivian said.
Her voice wasn't loud, but it had the absolute, razor-sharp edge of a CEO who hadn't lost her throne yet. She looked across the table at me, her eyes catching mine with a silent, desperate question.
“Let him work,” Vivian commanded. “Unless you’re afraid of a little fresh air, Richard?”
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Vance sneered, adjusting his cuffs. “This is absurd. Let’s get back to the vote. All in favor of invoking Clause 14 to remove Vivian Cole as Chief Executive Officer due to compromised executive capacity, raise your—”
“Before you raise your hands,” I interrupted, kneeling by the vent panel and unscrewing the metal grate, “you might want to look at what’s been sitting behind this wall for the last six months.”
