Chapter 12 - The Shadows of the Boardroom
The morning sun cast long, golden beams through the eighty-story glass facade of Vance World Headquarters, but the air inside the executive boardroom was freezing.
Nico sat at the head of the polished obsidian table, his dark eyes sweeping over the eleven remaining senior board members. Rafe stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows with his arms crossed, watching the street traffic far below, while Vivia sat quietly beside Nico, a thick leather-bound dossier resting beneath her hands.
"Let’s skip the pleasantries," Nico said, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a straight razor. "Federal prosecutors have formally unsealed the indictments. Marcella didn't act in a vacuum. She had accomplices who facilitated the laundering of over eighty million dollars through our maritime logistics branch."
Vice Chairman Donald Gable—a silver-haired veteran of the firm who had served alongside Arthur Vance for three decades—cleared his throat, forcing a sympathetic smile. "Nico, my boy, we were all deceived by your sister. Arthur’s death was a tragedy that broke our hearts. But dragging the Vance name through further public trials will tank our stock. Let the board handle internal restitution quietly."
"Internal restitution?" Rafe turned from the window, a cold sneer on his lips. "Is that what you call burning shipping manifests in the furnace room at three in the morning, Gable?"
Gable’s face flushed crimson. "I have served this company for thirty years! You insolent—"
Slam.
Nico tossed a sleek black tablet onto the center of the table. The screen lit up with bank routing numbers, shell company registries in Panama, and high-resolution surveillance photos of Gable meeting with Viktor Rostov’s underboss at a private dock in New Jersey.
"Your offshore account received twelve million dollars thirty-six hours before my father's heart stopped," Nico said, leaning forward. "You didn't just look the other way, Donald. You signed the falsified cargo manifests that allowed Rostov's weapons through our private terminals."
Gable pushed his chair back, his hands trembling as he reached for his jacket. "This is an ambush. My legal team will—"
The boardroom double doors swung open with a heavy thud. Four plainclothes FBI agents stepped into the room, badges gleaming in the morning light.
"Donald Gable," the lead agent announced. "You're under arrest for federal wire fraud, conspiracy to commit murder, and violation of the RICO Act. Step away from the table."
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As the handcuffs clicked around Gable’s wrists, the remaining board members stared in petrified silence. None dared to breathe.
Nico stood, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored suit. "The rest of you have until five o'clock to submit your complete operational audits to Vivia’s office. If a single penny is unaccounted for, you can join Donald in federal custody. Dismissed."
