Chapter 8 - The Hostile Takeover
Julian Vance tapped a single key on his terminal, sending forty-two encrypted legal filings to the New York commercial court and the SEC.
"The tender offer is live, Mr. Thorn," Julian announced, standing up from behind the desk.
"Vance Global, in conjunction with the Sterling Trust, has offered to acquire all outstanding private shares of Thorn Logic at seventy cents on the dollar."
"With our existing preferred stock and Sera’s controlling patent position, our syndicate holds seventy-four percent of the voting power."
"The board of directors convened via emergency teleconference twenty minutes ago while you were crossing the harbor."
"They voted eight to one to accept our buyout terms to prevent total corporate bankruptcy."
Marcus’s head snapped up, his face twisted in utter disbelief.
"They accepted?! Without my consent?!"
"You were removed as Chairman and CEO thirty minutes ago for gross fiduciary negligence and material misrepresentation of assets," Evelyn Hart said, sliding the board resolution across the table.
"Your personal equity has been diluted to cover the eighty-million-dollar breach-of-contract penalties owed to the Sterling Trust."
"Under the restructuring agreement, you will receive a one-time severance disbursement of one million two hundred thousand dollars."
"And your commercial shares are officially canceled."
Marcus let out a strangled, pathetic wail, grabbing the edge of the glass desk with white-knuckled fingers.
"One point two million?! I was worth four hundred million yesterday!"
"Yesterday, you were living on borrowed time and borrowed genius, Marcus," I told him, standing up from the sofa.
"You spent ten years taking credit for my family’s money, my uncle’s patents, and my silent labor."
"You told your friends that I was boring. You told your mistress that I had no ambition."
"You wanted to see what my ambition looked like when it wasn't busy protecting your reputation?"
I stepped around the table, looking down into his hollow, tear-stained eyes.
"This is it."
"You have your one point two million dollars, Marcus. Take it, buy yourself a small house somewhere quiet, and learn how to write an algorithm without stealing someone else's foundation."
"Now please leave my yacht."
Two security guards stepped forward, lifting Marcus by his arms and turning him toward the aft gangway.
He didn't fight back; his legs dragged across the teak deck like wet rags, his spirit completely crushed.
Gavin Roark hurried behind him, desperate to escape the blast radius of the greatest corporate humiliation in Silicon Alley history.
As the tender boat carried them back toward the crowded docks of Monaco, the waiting reporters surged forward with cameras flashing.
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The footage of Marcus Thorn being escorted off the Valkyrie in a disheveled tuxedo became the lead image on every financial broadcast across the globe.
The boy genius who thought he could discard his wife like an old phone had just been erased by the very network he claimed to rule.
