Chapter 4 - Monday Morning Execution
At exactly 8:50 AM on Monday morning, Bradley Lawson stepped out of a chauffeured black town car and strode through the towering glass revolving doors of Lawson Dynamics headquarters. He wore his favorite custom Milanese navy blazer, his hair impeccably styled, and his gold-plated Rolex gleaming proudly in the morning sunlight.
He nodded condescendingly to the security guards at the front desk, expecting the usual deferential bowing and scraping. Instead, both guards avoided eye contact, staring intensely at their computer monitors with rigid postures.
Bradley frowned slightly but brushed it off, striding directly toward the private executive elevator bank.
The elevator doors opened smoothly, whisking him up to the penthouse executive suite on the forty-second floor. As he stepped out onto the plush white carpeting, he noticed an unusual silence hanging over the executive bullpen. Usually, assistants were rushing back and forth, phones were ringing frantically, and the energetic hum of corporate ambition filled the air.
Today, the entire floor was dead silent.
His personal secretary, Sarah, sat rigidly at her desk. Her face was stark white, and her hands hovered frozen over her keyboard.
“Sarah,” Bradley snapped, dropping his leather briefcase onto her desk with a loud thud. “Get me the quarterly earnings report and notify all department heads that I want an emergency synergy briefing in ten minutes. And cancel whatever aesthetic appointments Khloe wants to bill to the corporate card this week.”
Sarah didn’t move. Slowly, she looked up at him. Her eyes were wide with a mixture of terror and profound pity.
“Mr. Lawson...” Sarah’s voice trembled. “You... you need to go directly into the boardroom right now.”
“Why? What’s going on?” Bradley asked, his annoyance flaring.
May you like
“The board of directors is already inside,” Sarah whispered. “And... and there is someone else waiting at the head of the table. Someone who requested your immediate presence.”
A cold prickle of unease finally stabbed at Bradley’s chest. He adjusted his tie, plastered an authoritative scowl onto his face, and pushed open the heavy frosted-glass doors of the executive boardroom.
