Chapter 5 - The Panic in the Executive Tower
By 3:30 PM, the fourteenth floor of Carrington Industrial Systems resembled a war room after a devastating defeat.
The glass doors to the main executive boardroom were locked from the inside. Security guards stood at the elevators, turning away junior vice presidents and administrative staff. Inside, the noise was deafening.
""The Baltic Dry Index isn't the problem!"" Miles Bennett was shouting, holding a stack of red-stamped faxes in both fists. ""The problem is insurance! Lloyd’s of London just suspended maritime transit coverage for every single Carrington-chartered vessel! Because Sovereign Global Marine revoked terminal access, the underwriters classified our entire fleet as 'abandoned cargo at sea'! If one of those ships scrapes a reef off Gibraltar, Carrington is personally liable for four hundred million dollars in maritime environmental damages!""
At the head of the table, Thaddeus Wexler sat motionless, his arms crossed over his chest, his eyes fixed on the heavy mahogany double doors.
The doors clicked open.
Vivien Carrington walked into the room.
She did not look like the woman who had walked through the airport four hours earlier. Her hair was disheveled, several strands falling across her forehead. Her makeup was smudged beneath her eyes, and she had abandoned her heels, wearing a pair of flat emergency sneakers her assistant had grabbed from the gym locker. Her hands were trembling violently.
""Where is he?"" Wexler asked. His voice wasn't loud, but it cut through the screaming in the room like a razor through silk.
Vivien leaned against the back of an empty chair for support. ""His personal phone is switched off. His apartment in Lincoln Park is empty. I sent two drivers to the address listed on his HR file... he hasn't been there in six months. The landlord said he moved to a house near the lake three years ago.""
""Did anyone have his home address?!"" Wexler shouted, slamming both palms down onto the table so hard that crystal water glasses rattled. ""Did anybody in this four-billion-dollar enterprise bother to know where our most vital operational officer lived?!""
Nobody spoke.
Martin Kell looked at his polished shoes. Claire Holden stared at her legal briefs.
""You treated him like furniture,"" Wexler said, his voice dripping with venom as he pointed a trembling finger at Vivien. ""Henry told me on his deathbed, 'Thaddeus, if anything happens to me, listen to Evan Ror. Evan built the global transit spine that keeps this company breathing. He doesn't want the spotlight, he doesn't want the title, he only wants peace for his daughter. Honor him, and Carrington will thrive. Disrespect him, and he will let the tide wash us away.'""
Wexler stood up, towering over Vivien. ""And what did you do, Vivien? The moment Henry closed his eyes, you looked at Evan and saw an inconvenient employee who didn't kiss your ring. You saw a man who left at 5:30 to be a father, and you mistook his decency for weakness!""
""I didn't know!"" Vivien sobbed, her composure finally shattering completely into hysterical tears. She buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking violently. ""I thought he was just an employee! Why didn't he tell me?! Why did he let me throw that letter at him?!""
""Because he asked you one question, didn't he?"" Wexler barked. ""He asked you if you had read his contract! And you were so blinded by your own pathetic vanity, so desperate to prove you were the boss, that you laughed in his face!""
The door to the boardroom opened once more.
Rebecca, Vivien’s assistant, stood in the threshold, her face completely pale. ""Mr. Wexler... there is a car arriving at the VIP underground entrance.""
The room went instantly silent.
""Whose car?"" Wexler demanded.
""It’s not one car,"" Rebecca whispered, her hands shaking as she held the door handle. ""It’s a motorcade of six black Maybachs bearing consular flags from the Swiss and Dutch maritime commissions. And... and Mr. Ror just stepped into the private elevator using the Founder’s Master Key.""
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Vivien’s head snapped up. She wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, her chest heaving. ""He's here?""
""He isn't coming here as your employee, Vivien,"" Wexler said coldly, buttoning his suit jacket and walking toward the door. ""He is coming here as the receiver of our estate. Straighten your clothes, stop your crying, and prepare to surrender your father's chair.""
