Chapter 7 - The Emperor’s New Clothes
At eight-thirty in the morning, the grand auditorium on the 50th floor of Vanguard Tower was packed to standing room only.
Over three hundred major shareholders, institutional investors, financial journalists, and television cameras filled the tiered seating. The massive LED screen behind the main stage displayed the official logo of the Vanguard Group alongside the morning agenda: ANNUAL GENERAL SHAREHOLDER MEETING & PRESIDENCY CONFIRMATION VOTE.
On the stage, standing behind a polished glass podium, was Richard Vance.
He was wearing a bespoke charcoal suit with a red silk tie, looking relaxed, confident, and radiant. Beshing him sat the ten senior members of the Board of Directors, looking anxious and unsettled. Among them sat Victor Vance, who had been sneaked into the back row by Richard, wearing a borrowed suit, trying his best to look important.
Richard leaned into the microphone, clearing his throat with a practiced expression of profound, feigned sorrow.
"Ladies and gentlemen... esteemed shareholders," Richard began, his voice trembling with manufactured emotion. "It is with a heavy, broken heart that I begin this morning’s proceedings with tragic news."
The room went completely quiet. Cameras flashed continuously.
"Late last night," Richard continued, wiping an imaginary tear from his eye, "my beloved half-sister... our visionary founder, Eleanor Vance-Vanguard... suffered a catastrophic medical collapse at her estate. She was rushed to the ICU, where she currently remains in a critical, unresponsive condition."
Gasp and low whispers rippled through the audience. Journalists scrambled to type on their laptops.
"In light of this terrible tragedy," Richard spoke louder, taking a commanding step forward, "and to ensure that Vanguard Global does not flounder in this time of crisis, the emergency board has convened. As Senior Vice President, I am stepping forward to assume the full powers of the Executive Presidency!"
Victor Vance smiled smugly from the back row, crossing his legs. He was already imagining his new office on the top floor, his revenge against the city complete.
"Furthermore," Richard proclaimed, raising his voice over the murmurs, "my first official decree as acting President will be the permanent cancellation of the proposed financial audit into our Logistics Division, allowing us to focus our full capital on expansion!"
"Is that so, Richard?" a clear, thunderous voice echoed from the main double doors at the back of the auditorium.
The sound was like a lightning bolt shattering a frozen lake.
Every camera, every shareholder, and every director whipped around toward the entrance.
Standing at the back of the auditorium was Eleanor Vance-Vanguard.
She was dressed in a sharp, immaculate white power suit, her silver hair styled perfectly, stepping into the room with powerful, absolute steps. She didn't look like a woman in an ICU bed; she looked like a goddess of war arriving to reclaim her realm.
And walking right beside her, holding her chin high, dressed in a stunning tailored dark navy suit with gold buttons, was seventeen-year-old Emily Ward.
Richard’s face went from glowing red to an absolute, ghastly chalk-white. His hands gripped the glass podium so hard his knuckles turned purple.
"E-Eleanor?!" Richard choked into the microphone, his voice cracking violently. "You... you’re... in the hospital—"
"I’m afraid my death was greatly exaggerated, brother," Eleanor said coldly, her voice carrying effortlessly across the silent room as she walked down the central aisle toward the stage.
Beside the stage, Victor Vance let out a squeak of absolute terror, sliding down in his seat as if trying to shrink into the carpet.
Eleanor reached the foot of the stage, looking up at Richard with supreme contempt.
"You thought a poisoned vial of potassium cyanide would secure your crown, Richard?" Eleanor asked softly, her voice picking up through the auditorium’s surround sound speakers.
The crowd gasped in utter horror.
"Poison?!" a major shareholder shouted, jumping to his feet. "What is the meaning of this?!"
"She’s mad!" Richard screamed into the microphone, panic seizing his brain as he gestured wildly to his security team. "She’s suffered a stroke! Security! Remove her from the building! She is mentally unfit—!"
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"Don't move," Arthur’s voice boomed from the balcony above.
Suddenly, twenty heavily armed officers from the Police Tactical Unit burst through every entrance of the auditorium, their laser sights locking instantly onto Richard Vance and his personal security detail!
