Ryan Carter thought the biggest risk of his summer internship would be making a mistake in front of an executive.

The executive boardroom on the forty-fifth floor of Sterling & Vance was an arena of cold, clinical destruction.

The room featured a thirty-foot table crafted from a single slab of petrified African wenge wood, surrounded by eighteen high-backed leather chairs looking out over the rain-swept mist of Chicago.

At the head of the table sat Samuel Sterling.

He sat with his arms folded across his black wool vest, his weathered face completely calm, his work boots resting flat on the imported wool carpet. Beside him sat Ryan Carter, his slacks still damp with coffee, holding an unread glass of ice water between his hands, feeling as though he had been pulled into the center of a Category Five hurricane.

At the far end of the table stood Richard Sterling, the firm’s Chief Financial Officer—Garrett’s father.

Richard was sixty-eight, impeccably groomed in a double-breasted gray pinstripe suit, but his aristocratic composure had completely disintegrated. His hands shook violently as he adjusted his wire-rimmed spectacles, his eyes darting frantically between his brother and the stack of red-bound audit files sitting before Harold Cross, the firm’s Chief Legal Counsel.

Beside Richard sat Garrett, slumped in a leather chair, staring at the polished wood as if waiting for an executioner's blade.

"For five years, Richard," Samuel said softly, his voice cutting through the room like an industrial diamond through glass, "you have been operating an unauthorized secondary credit facility through an offshore shell company in the Cayman Islands under Garrett's signature."

Richard swallowed hard, his throat moving in a dry, clicking convulsion. "Samuel... that was a strategic liquidity hedge designed to protect our European exposure—"

"It was grand larceny, Richard," Harold Cross interrupted, his crisp legal baritone devoid of all warmth. "You siphoned forty-four million dollars from the employee pension reserves to cover Garrett's margin calls on unauthorized crude oil futures."

The sixteen board members gathered around the table gasped. Several directors turned their faces away from Richard with immediate, visceral disgust.

Samuel stood up. He walked slowly down the length of the table, his steps measured, rhythmic, and terrifyingly heavy. He stopped directly behind Garrett’s chair, resting his large, calloused hands on the leather headrest.

"Under Section 12 of the Master Partnership Charter," Samuel announced, "the primary trustee retains the unilateral right to dissolve the partnership interest of any officer who engages in felony malfeasance or gross moral turpitude on corporate premises."

Samuel looked down at the top of his nephew's head.

"You are stripped of your title, Garrett. Your carried interest is forfeited. Your private accounts are frozen pending civil restitution. You will leave this building in fifteen minutes, accompanied by the federal marshals waiting in the service foyer."

"Uncle Samuel... please!" Garrett choked out, tears of pure, unadulterated terror finally breaking through his arrogant exterior, his voice cracking into a high-pitched wail. "My life... my reputation... I’ll go to prison!"

"You should have thought about prison before you told an old man to lick coffee off your shoes," Samuel replied coldly.

He turned his eyes to Richard Sterling.

"And you, brother. You will resign your seat on the board by noon today. You will surrender your voting proxies, and you will liquidate your executive stock allocations to replenish the employee pension trust. If you attempt to file a single civil motion, Harold will deliver the unredacted Caymans audit to the United States Attorney on Dearborn Street before the sun sets."

Richard closed his eyes, his head dropping onto his chest with a heavy, broken shudder, his four decades of financial dominance collapsing into the dust of an executive boardroom floor.

Samuel signaled to the two armed security operatives standing by the double doors.

"Remove them," Samuel commanded.

The operatives moved with terrifying efficiency. They hauled Garrett Sterling to his feet by his tailored lapels, marching him out of the boardroom alongside his broken father, their frantic, weeping protests cut off completely as the heavy walnut doors clicked shut behind them.