Chapter 8 - The Price of Treason
Rollins looked at the notebook as if it were a coiled viper ready to strike. He didn't touch it.
"This is an outrage!" Rollins roared, his polished composure shattering completely. "This is an unverified collection of scribbles from a senile old man! I've given twenty years of my life to this firm! You cannot bring in a street girl to slander me in front of my peers!"
"It's not just scribbles, Peter," Arthur said coldly.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out the thumb drive from the cedar chest, and plugged it into the boardroom's central presentation console. With three swift keystrokes, the massive projection screen on the wall illuminated.
Spread across the twenty-foot display were detailed banking records, wire transfer receipts, and transcripts of encrypted communications dating back six years. At the top of every document were the corporate seals of Northstar Cold Chain—and Peter Rollins's digital authentication code.
A collective gasp echoed around the table. Two board members immediately leaned back from Rollins, as if proximity to him were suddenly radioactive.
"My father didn't go to Switzerland to ski, Peter," Arthur said, his voice quiet, lethal, and devastating. "He went to meet with the Zurich regulatory authority to hand over this exact drive. But someone tipped off the flight crew. Someone arranged for a critical hydraulic failure over the Alps."
Rollins's breathing became shallow. "You can't prove that. You have no proof about the helicopter!"
"The Federal Bureau of Investigation thinks otherwise," a deep voice sounded from the doorway.
Four men in dark suits, accompanied by two federal marshals, stepped into the boardroom. The lead agent held up a gold badge.
"Peter Rollins? We have a federal warrant for your arrest on charges of grand larceny, wire fraud, racketeering, and corporate conspiracy. Further charges regarding the suspicious death of Thomas Caldwell are currently pending grand jury review."
Rollins stumbled backward against the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking frantically around the table for support. But every single director looked away. The same men who had been prepared to hand him the empire thirty seconds earlier now stared at the carpet in utter shame.
"Arthur..." Rollins choked out, holding up trembling hands as the marshals closed in with handcuffs. "Arthur, listen to me. Your father was pushing too hard. He was going to destroy everything we built! I did it to protect the company!"
Arthur looked at him with an expression of pure, unadulterated disgust.
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"My father built this company on trust, Peter," Arthur whispered. "You turned it into a slaughterhouse. Get him out of my sight."
The metal cuffs clicked shut with a sharp, final snap. As Rollins was led away in disgrace, sobbing into his collar, the boardroom remained frozen in absolute, terrified silence.
