Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Coup
Across town, inside the gilded Grand Ballroom of the Halcyon, four hundred of Chicago’s wealthiest donors were drinking champagne in awkward, tense silence.
The stage stood empty under the bright spotlights, the podium displaying the Mercer Foundation crest like an abandoned monument.
Grant paced the private green room behind the stage, sweating through his custom tuxedo shirt, his phone glued to his ear.
"What do you mean the court dismissed the emergency conservatorship?!" Grant roared into the speaker.
"I paid Dr. Sterling fifty thousand dollars to certify that Claire was an immediate danger to herself!"
"Dr. Sterling was arrested forty minutes ago at his private clinic in Naperville, Mr. Mercer," his chief defense attorney, Richard Cole, replied in a trembling voice.
"The State's Attorney intercepted his personal email account. They have the wire transfers from your secret corporate expense fund."
"Grant, Arthur Vance is serving an immediate asset freeze on all your personal accounts. You need to leave the venue right now."
Grant slammed the phone against the mirror, shattering the glass into a thousand spiderweb fractures.
"Damn it!" he screamed, grabbing his head in both hands.
The green room door swung open, and Sloane stepped inside, her face pale, her red stilettos clicking unevenly on the hardwood.
"Grant, what is happening out there?" Sloane cried, clutching her designer shawl.
"Three police detectives just asked the valet for my car keys! They're saying they have an assault warrant for me!"
Grant turned toward her, his eyes wild with unbridled narcissism and venom.
"You stupid bitch," Grant snarled, stepping toward her with his fists clenched.
"I told you to be subtle! I told you to make her look like the aggressor! Why the hell did you step on her hand in front of four valet cameras?!"
Sloane took an involuntary step back, stunned by the sheer brutality in his voice.
"You told me to put her in her place!" Sloane screamed back, her tears ruining her eyeliner.
"You said she was nothing! You said your mother was half-dead in Massachusetts and that the foundation belonged to you!"
"My mother built this empire, you fool!" Grant shouted, lunging forward and grabbing Sloane by the upper arm, shaking her violently.
"She owns the trust! She owns the naming rights! Without her, I am just an executive with a massive mountain of unsecured margin debt!"
Before Sloane could break free, the heavy oak doors of the green room were kicked open with a thunderous bang.
Detective Miller and four uniformed Chicago police officers stepped into the room, their hands resting firmly on their service holsters.
"Grant Mercer and Sloane Avery," Detective Miller announced, his voice echoing off the broken mirrors.
"Step away from each other and place your hands behind your heads."
"Do you know who I am?!" Grant bellowed, puffing out his chest with desperate, hollow arrogance.
"I am the president of the Mercer Foundation! My grandfather built the hospital wing you take your injured officers to!"
"Not anymore, Mr. Mercer," Detective Miller replied with clinical calm, stepping forward with heavy steel handcuffs.
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"You're under arrest for felony conspiracy, obstruction of justice, and domestic battery against a pregnant victim."
"And Miss Avery is under arrest for aggravated battery with a deadly weapon."
