Chapter 5 - The Snake in the Boardroom
The executive boardroom on the fortieth floor of the Wentworth Tower in downtown Phoenix—our primary corporate hub—felt colder than usual.
I pushed the glass double doors open without knocking. The room was packed. All seven members of the board of directors sat around the polished mahogany table, their expressions a mix of uncomfortable avoidance and thinly veiled opportunism.
At the head of the table sat my mother, Margaret.
She wasn't wearing her casual cashmere cardigan anymore. She was dressed in a sharp, blood-red Chanel blazer, her silver hair coiled into a severe knot, her fingers resting lightly on the gleaming CEO nameplate that had belonged to my father—and then to me.
Beside her sat Carla, looking remarkably smug despite the orange holding-facility jumpsuit she had somehow managed to swap for a designer pantsuit, flanked by two high-priced corporate defense attorneys hired by our own company funds.
“Well, look who decided to grace us with his presence,” Margaret purred, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness as she looked up from her tablet. “Cut the dramatics, Austin. Sit down. We’re in the middle of a strategic restructuring meeting.”
I didn't sit down. I walked straight down the center of the mahogany aisle, stopping ten feet from the head of the table. The air around me felt charged with static electricity.
“You’re out of your mind,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You poisoned my pregnant wife, you tried to rob my safe, and you think you can waltz into my boardroom and steal my company?”
Margaret let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Poisoned? Rob my own son? Really, Austin, the melodrama is unbecoming of a Wentworth. The police report will show a domestic dispute involving a hysterical, unstable woman you unfortunately married from a lower-class background. As for the safe—everything in it belongs to the family estate trust, which I legally administer.”
“The police have the video, Mom,” I said, stepping closer. “They have the security footage, the audio recordings from every room in my house, the financial audit of your offshore accounts in Zurich, and the hospital toxicology report proving you administered neuro-blockers to my wife for four months.”
A tiny flicker of panic crossed Margaret’s eyes, but she masked it instantly with a hardened sneer. She turned to the board members.
“Gentlemed and ladies,” Margaret announced, raising her voice so everyone could hear. “My son is clearly suffering from severe psychological trauma due to his wife’s unstable behavior. He is unfit to manage a multi-million-dollar logistics firm. Under Section 14 of the corporate bylaws, I move to invoke emergency receivership and permanently strip Austin Wentworth of all executive authority.”
Arthur Sterling, sitting near the middle of the table, slowly cleared his throat. He looked down at his notes, refusing to meet my eyes. “Given the... complicated legal filings and the temporary restraining orders involving family members, I believe a temporary suspension of duties is prudent until the courts—s”
“Don't you dare quote bylaws to me, Arthur,” I snarled, slamming my hands down on the mahogany table so hard the water glasses rattled.
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Before anyone else could speak, the heavy oak doors at the back of the boardroom swung open.
Detective Miller walked in, accompanied by two federal marshals in tactical gear. In Miller’s hand was a thick federal arrest warrant signed by a federal magistrate judge.
