Chapter 6 - The Morning After the Fire
The boardroom on the thirty-second floor of the Vanguard Development tower was dead silent, save for the hum of the central air conditioning and the rhythmic tapping of my pen against the mahogany table.
Arthur Vance sat to my right, while three senior partners from the corporate legal division occupied the opposite side of the room. The vacant leather chair at the head of the table—the seat Ivan had claimed for a decade—remained empty, its nameplate already unscrewed and tossed into the recycling bin by building maintenance an hour earlier.
“The forensic audit is complete,” the lead corporate attorney, Sarah Lin, announced, sliding a thick binder across the table toward me. “Every unauthorized wire transfer from the operational reserves to Ivan’s personal offshore accounts has been cataloged. We have sufficient evidence for immediate asset freezing and criminal referral.”
“Proceed with the filings, Sarah,” I instructed, not even opening the binder. I already knew every number by heart; I had spent hundreds of late nights tracing those exact transactions while Ivan slept off his golf outings downstairs.
“And what about the residential properties?” Arthur asked, adjusting his glasses. “Ivan attempted to transfer the title of your primary residence to his mother’s name late last night.”
“The county clerk’s office flagged it immediately because the master deed is held exclusively in the Elena Vance Trust,” Sarah replied with a thin smile. “Cynthia Vance has no legal claim to the estate, nor does Ivan. They are currently locked out of all properties.”
Just as Sarah finished speaking, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open with a violent crash.
Ivan stood in the doorway, disheveled, wearing the same crumpled suit from the previous day, his hair uncombed and his eyes bloodshot. Two building security guards flanked him, but Ivan shoved past them, storming into the room with his fists balled at his sides.
“You can’t do this!” Ivan roared, slamming his palms onto the mahogany table and leaning over it toward me. “This is illegal! You conspired to lock me out of my own building!”
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I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even look up from my pen. I simply continued tapping it against the wood, the rhythmic sound filling the tense silence of the room.
“Your building, Ivan?” I finally asked, looking up to meet his frantic, bloodshot eyes. “Let’s review the lobby directory downstairs. Whose name is on the founding charter?”
