Chapter 3 - The Board's Decree
In the private VIP lounge situated directly above the main ballroom, twelve men and women in dark, immaculate suits sat around a glass conference table. These were the true power brokers of Pinnacle Enterprises—representatives of major institutional funds, senior venture capitalists, and veteran corporate legal minds.
When I walked through the double doors, accompanied by Andy Ashworth and two private security officers, the entire room stood up in absolute unison.
“Ms. McCann,” said Victor Vance, the head of the audit committee, bowing his head respectfully. “We are deeply, deeply sorry for the disgraceful scene downstairs. Had any of us known the extent of Brendan’s personal deterioration and brazen arrogance, we would have intervened months ago.”
“You couldn't have known, Victor,” I said, taking my seat at the head of the table. “I deliberately kept my position behind the proxy trust to ensure smooth operational continuity. I wanted Brendan to succeed. But his ego turned him into a fraud, and tonight, he turned into a violent criminal.”
Andy Ashworth laid a thick leather-bound dossier in front of me.
“Here is the complete financial breakdown, Sydney,” Andy explained, turning the pages. “Over the last eighteen months, Brendan, with the direct assistance of Sabrina Miller, has siphoned over six million dollars out of Pinnacle’s executive discretionary budget. They funneled money through a fake PR consultancy firm named Miller & Associates. They bought the 1.8 million dollar necklace, a five-hundred-thousand-dollar yacht slip in Miami, luxury vehicles, and private jet charters for personal vacations.”
“And my mother-in-law?” I asked, leaning back.
“Claire Alcott has been on the corporate payroll as a ‘Cultural Heritage Consultant’ earning sixty thousand dollars a month,” Andy said, shaking his head in disgust. “She hasn't stepped foot in an office in five years. She used the company corporate card to fund her personal shopping sprees at Bergdorf Goodman and Cartier.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. I thought of the countless family dinners where Claire had mocked my clothes, where she had demanded I clean up after her standard Sunday brunches, telling me that a girl from my background should be grateful just to sit at the same table as her son. I had endured it all to keep peace in my marriage, while she was literally buying her diamond earrings with my late father’s money.
“Strip her from the payroll immediately,” I ordered. “Issue a formal demand for full restitution of all unauthorized corporate charges made by Claire Alcott within forty-eight hours. If she fails to pay, file criminal fraud charges against her before the week is out.”
“Understood,” Victor Vance replied instantly. “What about the CEO position?”
“Clause 4 of the McCann Trust stipulates that in the event of gross moral turpitude or criminal indictment of the sitting CEO, the majority shareholder assumes interim executive authority,” Andy stated firmly. “Sydney, as of ten minutes ago, you are the official Chairman and Interim Chief Executive Officer of Pinnacle Enterprises.”
I picked up the fountain pen sitting beside the dossier and signed the executive transition decree in bold, flowing black ink.
“Now,” I said, looking up at the board members. “Let’s go down to the press center. It’s time for Brendan to receive his final evaluation.”
Meanwhile, downstairs in the ballroom, the atmosphere was beginning to shift from celebratory to strangely tense.
Brendan was standing near the stage, his arm wrapped tightly around Sabrina’s waist, whispering something into her ear that made her giggle loudly. Claire was standing nearby, loudly telling a group of wealthy corporate wives how she planned to redesign the guest house at the La Jolla estate once "that pathetic Sydney" was finally out of the picture.
Suddenly, Brendan’s phone chimed with a high-priority alert. Then it chimed again. And again.
He pulled the phone from his tuxedo pocket, frowning as he looked at the screen. A flood of push notifications from banking apps began popping up across the glass:
NOTIFICATION: Your Corporate American Express Centurion Card has been DEACTIVATED by the account holder.
NOTIFICATION: Access to Executive Account #4092 has been SUSPENDED due to administrative override.
ALERT: Commercial lease agreement for Vehicle #1 (Bentley Continental GT) revoked by Pinnacle Fleet Management.
Brendan’s heart gave a sudden, violent thud against his ribs. He tapped frantically on his banking app, attempting to log in, but a stark red error message flashed across the screen: USER ACCESS REVOKED. CONTACT SHARED HOLDER LEGAL COUNSEL.
“What is this?” Brendan muttered, his voice suddenly losing its booming, confident edge. “What the hell is wrong with the network?”
“What is it, sweetie?” Sabrina asked, leaning against his shoulder, her ruby lips pouting. “Is the hotel Wi-Fi acting up?”
Before Brendan could answer, his personal assistant came running through the crowd of guests, his face pale, his forehead covered in a slick sheen of sweat.
“Mr. Alcott! Mr. Alcott, you need to look at the news right now!” the assistant gasped, holding up an iPad.
May you like
Brendan snatched the tablet from the young man’s hands. Live video was streaming from the hotel’s downstairs press room.
On the screen stood Andy Ashworth, flanked by the entire board of directors of Pinnacle Enterprises. And standing directly in the center, wearing a sharp, tailor-made midnight-blue suit that radiated supreme authority, was me.
