Chapter 4 - THE BOARD'S RECKONING
I sat down in the high-backed velvet chair at the center of the head table. The polished silverware gleamed under the chandeliers, and a crystal flute of vintage champagne sat beside my water glass—a glass that had clearly been intended for Margaret before her spectacular fall from grace.
Sebastian took the seat to my left, leaning his silver-handled cane against the table. He tapped his water glass gently with a small silver spoon, creating a clear, ringing chime that commanded the attention of the entire room.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Sebastian’s voice boomed through the speakers, steady and resonant. "Thank you for attending our fiftieth anniversary gala. As you have just witnessed, anniversaries are not merely celebrations of the past; they are tests of endurance."
He gestured toward me with an open hand.
"Many of you remember my son, Thomas, and his wife Elena, who passed away in the tragic accident ten years ago. You were told their only daughter chose to walk away from her inheritance. That was a fabrication designed to clear the path for corporate restructuring and embezzlement."
Across the room, several junior vice presidents from the corporate finance division turned pale, sliding down in their seats as if trying to make themselves invisible.
"Effective immediately," Sebastian continued, his voice dropping into the tone of an absolute corporate commander, "all executive committees are dissolved. A comprehensive forensic audit of Valle Industries and its subsidiaries will begin tomorrow morning under the direct supervision of my granddaughter, Charlotte Valle."
A collective gasp rippled through the tables.
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"She holds ninety-one percent of the voting shares, transferred to her by my personal decree this morning," Sebastian added. "Any executive who wishes to tender their resignation before the auditors arrive may do so by midnight. Those who stay will answer to her."
I looked out across the sea of faces. Among the terrified executives and sycophantic socialites, I spotted a few familiar faces—people who had watched Margaret slap me just twenty minutes ago, people who had laughed behind their champagne flutes when my canvas bag split open on the marble floor. Now, they wouldn't even meet my eyes. They stared intently at their napkins, paralyzed by the sudden, brutal realization of how terribly they had miscalculated.
