Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Bloodbath
The atmosphere in the boardroom on the 50th floor was toxic enough to choke a horse.
I sat at the head of the long glass table.
Usually, Julian sat here.
Today, his chair had been pushed aside, and I occupied the center seat.
Around me sat twelve of the most powerful people in the logistics industry.
Nobody spoke.
The silence was thick, heavy with anticipation and dread.
At 7:58 a.m., the double oak doors burst open.
Julian stood there.
He looked exactly like a man whose world had just collapsed.
His tie was undone. His hair was messy.
He was sweating through his expensive Italian shirt.
He looked frantically around the room, his eyes darting from face to face, searching for an ally.
He found none.
Finally, his eyes locked onto mine.
"Victoria," he gasped, taking a step toward me. "Vic, please. Let me explain."
"Take a seat, Mr. Sterling," Marcus Vance said from my left. His voice cracked like a whip.
Julian flinched at the formality.
"Marcus, please. This is a misunderstanding. A personal matter. It shouldn't involve the board."
"A personal matter?" I echoed, my voice cutting through the room like shattered glass.
I tapped a button on my tablet.
The massive screen behind me flickered to life.
It didn't show the photo of him in bed.
The board had already seen that.
Instead, the screen displayed a spreadsheet.
It was a detailed, itemized list of his expenditures on Camila Brooks.
"Is the ten thousand dollars of shareholder money you spent last night at the St. Regis a personal matter, Julian?" I asked.
Julian's face drained of color.
He looked at the screen, then back at me.
"That... I can reimburse that..." he stammered.
"Can you reimburse the half-million dollars spent over the last fourteen months?" I asked, scrolling down the spreadsheet. "The flights to Paris? The diamond necklace from Cartier classified as a 'vendor gift'? The lease on an apartment downtown?"
The boardroom erupted into murmurs.
The affair was one thing. A PR nightmare, yes.
But stealing from the company? That was a death sentence.
"Victoria, you're my wife!" Julian yelled, his panic turning into anger. "You're supposed to protect me! We built this together!"
"And you tried to burn it down alone," I replied softly.
I stood up, resting my palms flat against the glass table.
"You brought a subordinate into your bed. You exposed us to a massive sexual harassment lawsuit. You embezzled funds. And you did it right before our European merger."
I looked around the room, making eye contact with every board member.
"Gentlemen, and ladies," I said firmly. "Whitmore Global Logistics cannot have a liability at the helm. I am invoking Clause 4B of the Founder's Agreement."
Julian stumbled back as if he'd been shot.
Clause 4B.
The Morality and Misconduct clause.
It allowed the board to strip an executive of their voting rights and force a buyout of their shares at a fraction of the market value if they committed gross misconduct.
"You can't do that," Julian whispered. "I'm the CEO."
"Not anymore," Marcus Vance interjected. "The board held a preliminary vote before you arrived."
Julian looked at Marcus, betrayed.
"You voted me out?"
"Unanimously," I confirmed.
Julian’s knees seemed to give way. He slumped into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands.
The great, untouchable Julian Sterling was weeping in front of his peers.
"Effective immediately, Julian Sterling is terminated," I announced, reading from a prepared document. "Security is packing your office as we speak. You have thirty minutes to leave the building."
He looked up at me, tears streaming down his face.
"Vic... what about us? What about our home? Our marriage?"
I felt a brief, sharp pang in my chest.
Seven years.
We had loved each other once.
We had eaten instant noodles in a cramped apartment while drafting business plans.
But that man was dead. The man sitting before me was a stranger who thought I was weak.
"My lawyer has already filed the divorce papers," I said, my tone clinical. "You will be served by noon. I suggest you find a good attorney. You're going to need one."
I signaled to the security guards standing by the door.
"Escort Mr. Sterling out."
Julian didn't fight.
He didn't scream.
He stood up, looking small, broken, and utterly defeated.
As he walked out the door, he looked back at me one last time.
May you like
But I had already turned my attention to the screen.
"Now," I said to the board, without missing a beat. "Let's discuss the European merger."
