Chapter 2 - The Emergency War Room
The atmosphere inside Beatrice and Richard’s luxury penthouse later that evening was poisonous. The glass coffee table was littered with half-empty crystal tumblers of scotch and shredded napkins. Richard, a senior Vice President of Acquisitions at the Consortium, paced the floor like a caged predator, his silk tie loosened around his neck.
"He’s lost his mind," Richard snarled, hurling a throw pillow across the room. "The old man is legally senile! He can't just wipe out fifty years of generational succession because a grease monkey pulled him out of a ditch! There are bylaws, Beatrice! There are corporate governance structures!"
Beatrice sat on the velvet sofa, her fingers trembling as she typed frantically on her tablet. Her eyes were bloodshot from crying—not out of remorse for how she had treated little Toby, but out of sheer, unadulterated panic for her own bank account.
"My mother called," Beatrice whispered, her voice cracking. "She tried to get into Grandfather's suite at the estate an hour ago. His private security detail barred the doors. They told her that all family visits must now be submitted in writing through his legal counsel."
"We are not letting some wrench-turner take our company," Richard said, stopping in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Chicago skyline. "Do you have any idea what my exposure is right now? I leveraged three commercial properties on the assumption that my division would be receiving the primary capital allocation from the trust next quarter. If Julian Vance steps into that boardroom on Monday morning with signature authority, we are finished. I’ll be bankrupt within six months."
Beatrice looked up, her expression hardening into something ugly and desperate. "Then we prove Grandfather is incompetent. We file for an emergency medical conservatorship. We tell the courts that Julian and Clara have been systematically brainwashing an eighty-four-year-old man who suffered cognitive decline after his car accident."
"It’s not enough," Richard said coldly. He walked over to his desk, pulling out a leather-bound address book. "If Arthur restructured the trust yesterday, he used Sterling & Partners. They are bulletproof. If we challenge the competency of the testator without hard proof of coercion, we’ll be tied up in probate court for five years while Julian sits in the CEO’s chair drawing a seven-figure salary."
May you like
"Then what do we do?" Beatrice demanded, standing up. "Are we supposed to just hand over our legacy to a boy who shops at discount hobby stores?"
Richard’s eyes narrowed as a dark, calculating thought crossed his features. "No. We destroy Julian Vance’s credibility before the ink on that trust document even dries. A man who runs a back-alley auto shop in the South Side definitely has skeletons in his closet. EPA violations, cash-under-the-table tax fraud, questionable parts... everyone has something. I’m calling a private investigator tonight. By the time Julian tries to set foot in Kensington Towers, I want him looking like a criminal."
