Chapter 12 - The Poisoned Proxy
Julian looked down at the crisp legal brief resting on his knees, his throat tightening with suffocating dread.
The memory of Victoria standing over him in the penthouse, stripping away his stolen prestige with a single word, burned like acid in his mind.
"Victoria doesn't leave loose ends, Helena," Julian said, his voice cracking beneath the hum of the engine.
"If she finds out I signed a corporate proxy behind the bankruptcy trustee's back, she will send me to a federal penitentiary."
Helena scoffed, waving her manicured hand with utter dismissiveness.
"Victoria’s attention is entirely consumed by the Pacific shipping consortium."
"She believes every branch of the Vance opposition was permanently dismantled when my father was sent to prison."
"She doesn't know that my father transferred forty percent of his private foreign reserves into my name before his indictment was unsealed."
Julian looked at the signature line, feeling the phantom weight of the pen between his fingers.
Ten million dollars meant freedom; it meant rescuing his aging mother from the squalor of her subsidized apartment in Queens.
It meant stepping out of the shadows and walking into the sunlight again, far away from the city that treated him like a pariah.
"What does this proxy actually authorize?" Julian asked, his voice barely audible.
"It authorizes Apex Crest to act as your legal representative in reopening the spousal asset dispute during the annual general meeting," Helena explained.
"Under New York corporate statute, a pending spousal fraud petition automatically freezes voting rights on contested voting shares."
"That freeze will paralyze Victoria's sixty percent equity block for ninety days."
"During those ninety days, Apex Crest will exercise its debt covenants and force Vance Financial into compulsory administrative restructuring."
Julian swallowed hard, realizing the monstrous scale of the trap Helena had engineered.
She was not looking to save him or restore his honor; she was using him as a human explosive device to blow Victoria’s empire wide open.
"Sign the paper, Julian," Helena urged, her tone shifting into a venomous, hypnotic whisper.
"Or spend the next thirty years scraping grease off commercial truck engines for twenty dollars an hour."
Julian’s hand shook violently as he took the Montblanc pen Helena thrust into his palm.
He closed his eyes, remembered the cold, dismissive look Victoria had given him at the Metropolitan Gala, and scribbled his name across the page.
Helena snatched the paper back immediately, checking the ink with ravenous satisfaction.
"A driver will drop an envelope containing fifty thousand dollars in cash at your motel tonight for immediate expenses."
"The bearer bonds will be transferred the moment the gavel drops at tomorrow morning's shareholder convention."
The black car pulled up to the entrance of the Lincoln Tunnel and came to an abrupt halt.
"Get out, Julian," Helena commanded, not even bothering to look at him as she opened her tablet to transmit the scanned document.
May you like
Julian stepped out onto the grimy pavement, clutching his collar against the biting wind as the luxury car sped away into the gloom.
He felt lighter, but deep within his chest, an icy premonition warned him that he had just signed his own death warrant.
