Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Predators
By 5:50 PM, I walked down the grand marble staircase of the Vance estate.
I wore the long-sleeved green silk dress. High collar. Thick layers of heavy concealer covered the deep purple bruise blooming along my jawline, though nothing could completely hide the swollen red cut near my cheekbone. I had styled my dark hair in low waves, strategically framing my face to cover the worst of the impact marks.
The grand foyer was glowing with crystal chandeliers. Waiters in crisp black vests moved through the crowd carrying silver trays of champagne glasses.
Over twenty high-profile executives, city politicians, and board members from Sterling Logistics were already scattered across the formal living room. Among them was Robert Harrison—the ruthless chairman of the board who had been trying to seize control of my grandfather’s legacy for a decade.
Vance stepped up beside me the moment my heel touched the ground floor. He slid his arm around my waist, his fingers digging painfully into my ribs—a silent, physical warning.
"Remember your lines," he whispered near my ear, his voice laced with venom. "Smile and nod."
"Ah, the lovely Sarah!" Chairman Harrison exclaimed, stepping toward us with a wide, predatory smile. He held a glass of scotch in one hand and adjusted his gold cufflinks with the other. "Vance, my boy, you're a lucky man. We were just discussing the final terms of the trust integration."
Arthur and Beatrice stepped up beside Harrison like two vultures flanking their prize.
"Sarah is more than eager to sign," Beatrice said smoothly, taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and placing it into my trembling hands. "She's always believed that family should handle financial matters together. Isn't that right, dear?"
Harrison looked at me, his sharp eyes lingering for a second on the heavy makeup near my jawline. A subtle, knowing flicker crossed his face—not of concern, but of complete indifference. Men like Harrison didn't care how the signatures were obtained, as long as the stocks transferred.
"The notary is in the private study, Sarah," Harrison said, pulling a heavy leather document folder from his coat. "We can finalize the transfer right now before dinner is served. Once your fifteen percent is merged with Vance’s shares, we'll have the sixty-percent majority needed to vote out the remaining oversight committee."
"She'd be delighted," Vance said, tightening his grip on my waist until I could barely draw breath. "Let's head into the study."
As they began guiding me toward the back wing of the house, my eyes flicked toward the high floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the front driveway.
Outside, the rain was pouring down in heavy sheets. The massive black wrought-iron security gates of the estate stood closed. But through the thick tree line near the main entrance, I caught a brief, barely visible flicker of blacked-out headlights creeping slowly up the winding road.
Marcus was here.
"Sarah?" Vance’s voice snapped my attention back. His eyes narrowed as he saw me staring out the window. "What are you looking at?"
"Nothing," I lied, lowering my head. "Just... the rain."
"Move," he muttered, shoving me gently toward the study door.
We stepped into Arthur’s mahogany-paneled office. The heavy wooden door closed behind us, muting the chatter of the dinner party outside. Sitting behind the wide oak desk was a slick, gray-haired man in a tailored suit—Thomas Vance, Arthur’s younger brother and the family’s corrupt private attorney.
"Everything is drafted, Arthur," Thomas said, spinning a heavy montblanc pen on the desk. "All we need is her signature on pages twelve, fourteen, and sixteen."
"Give her the pen," Vance ordered, shoving me into the leather chair in front of the desk.
I looked down at the crisp white documents. Irrevocable Transfer of Voting Rights and Equity.
If I signed this, they would control everything my grandfather worked fifty years to build. And the moment the ink dried, I would become an absolute liability.
"Sign it, Sarah," Vance whispered, leaning over my shoulder, his heavy hand resting on the back of my neck. "Let's get this over with."
I picked up the pen. My hand shook violently.
May you like
I looked at the grandfather clock in the corner of the room. 6:02 PM.
Where are you, Marcus?
