Chapter 4 - THE EMERGENCY VOTE
The boardroom of West Global was designed to intimidate. Dark mahogany paneling, leather chairs that cost more than a used car, and a massive oval table surrounded by twelve men and women in custom suits who looked like they dined exclusively on crushed dreams and high-yield bonds.
When Cameron pushed the double doors open and walked in, the low murmur of conversation instantly died.
Arthur Pendelton, the senior board chairman with silver hair and eyes like chips of flint, stood at the head of the table. He didn't offer a greeting.
“Sit down, Cameron,” Pendelton said, his voice dripping with icy contempt. “We don't have much time. We need to vote on your immediate suspension before the press gets hold of the Mitsubishi fallout.”
Cameron didn't sit. He walked to the center of the room, placing his titanium briefcase on the mahogany table with a sharp, echoing thud. He didn't wear a tie; his collar was open, his expression completely relaxed.
“Before you hold your little kangaroo court, Arthur, I have an announcement to make,” Cameron said smoothly.
“Your announcements cost us forty million dollars yesterday,” Pendelton snapped. “We are done listening to your eccentricities. The board has invoked Section 9 of the corporate charter. You are out.”
“Am I?” Cameron raised an eyebrow. He popped the latches of his briefcase and pulled out a thick stack of printed documents, sliding them across the table toward Pendelton. “Before you sign my walking papers, you might want to look at those.”
Pendelton frowned, picking up the top paper. His eyes scanned the lines, and slowly, the color drained from his weathered face.
“What is this?” Pendelton whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “An internal audit of the 2024 tax filings?”
“It’s proof that three members of this executive board—led by you, Arthur—have been quietly funneling corporate development funds into offshore shell companies in the Caymans,” Cameron said, his voice dropping into a lethal, quiet register. “Roughly twelve million dollars over the last two years. Embezzlement, tax evasion, and a lovely little violation of federal securities law.”
The room erupted into chaos. Two junior board members stood up so fast their chairs fell backward. Pendelton looked as if he had been struck by lightning, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
“This—this is a fabrication!” Pendelton sputtered, slamming the papers onto the table. “You can't prove—!”
“I can prove every single transaction by five o'clock this afternoon when the federal prosecutor receives copies directly from my legal team,” Cameron interrupted, leaning forward and resting his knuckles on the mahogany. “Here are your choices, Arthur. You and your little co-conspirators can resign right now, forfeit your stock options, and walk out of this building with your freedom intact. Or you can sit there, hold your vote, and spend the next ten years of your life sharing a cell with white-collar criminals who won't care about your golf handicap.”
Silence returned to the boardroom—a heavy, suffocating silence filled with the sound of ragged breathing and panic.
Pendelton looked around the table for support, but the other two implicated board members were already avoiding his gaze, their faces sheet-white.
With shaking hands, Pendelton pulled a gold pen from his pocket, scribbled his signature of resignation on a blank piece of legal pad, and tossed it across the table.
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“You’re a monster, West,” Pendelton spat, his voice shaking with impotent fury as he pushed himself out of his chair.
“No, Arthur,” Cameron replied softly as the disgraced chairman stormed toward the doors. “I’m just a man who finally decided to look down at the floor.”
