Chapter 6 - The Unraveling of the Boardroom
"Security," Marcus rasped, his voice shaking as he pointed at Greg Miller. "Take him. Throw him out into the freezing rain right now. He does not exist. His contract is terminated."
"No," Henry Brooks said, raising his hand.
Marcus froze. "Sir?"
"Greg Miller leaves," Henry commanded. "But he leaves after you do, Marcus."
Panic flared in Marcus Vance’s eyes. "Me? Sir, I am the CEO! I built this operational model! You can't—"
"I built this company," Henry interrupted, his voice ringing with absolute, unyielding power. "And today, I am tearing down every rotten timber you've added to my house."
Henry reached into his pocket, pulled out the satellite phone, and tapped the screen twice.
"Harold," Henry said into the device. "Bring the papers in."
The heavy oak doors of the dining room swung open once more.
This time, entering the room was Harold Cross, the eighty-year-old senior legal counsel for Brooks International, flanked by two federal marshals and four corporate auditors carrying heavy leather briefcases.
Harold walked straight to table fourteen, pulled a thick stack of vellum documents from his briefcase, and laid them flat across the white tablecloth.
"Mr. Vance," Harold said, his voice crisp and devoid of all emotion. "Under Section 9 of the Founding Trust Charter, Founder Brooks has exercised his unilateral authority to dissolve the current executive board, revoke all executive stock options, and initiate a full forensic audit of your corporate accounts over the past six years."
Harold tapped the top document with his manicured index finger.
"Furthermore, you are being served with a formal notice of termination for gross fiduciary misconduct, hostile workplace violations, and deliberate sabotage of foundational corporate ethics. Your office has already been locked by federal marshals, and your personal bank accounts tied to company bonuses have been frozen pending civil restitution."
Marcus Vance stared at the paper. The illusion of his invincibility—the gold Rolex, the Italian suit, the multi-million-dollar salary—shattered into a million pieces. He looked at Henry Brooks, opened his mouth to protest, and found that his voice had completely vanished.
May you like
Without a word, the two security guards stepped forward, grabbed Marcus Vance by his expensive lapels, and dragged him backward out of the dining room, his heels scraping helplessly against the polished mahogany floor.
Greg Miller followed close behind, weeping openly as he was swept out into the cold corridor, leaving the dining room wrapped in a profound, heavy silence.
