Chapter 5 - The Corporate Trap
The day of the emergency board meeting arrived with a bitter, slate-gray Chicago dawn.
I stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Ashford Meridian executive boardroom on the forty-fifth floor, watching the snow swirl around the skyscrapers below. I wore a sharp charcoal pantsuit that concealed the slight swell of my pregnancy and the heavy bruising on my collarbone.
The heavy oak doors opened, and the board members filed in, murmuring quietly among themselves.
Grant entered last, looking immaculate in a tailored navy suit. He wore an expression of practiced, somber concern. He walked straight toward me, stopping just short of an embrace.
“Eleanor, you shouldn’t have checked yourself out of the hospital,” he said softly, loud enough for the board members to hear. “Your health comes first. We can handle the vote via proxy just like we discussed.”
“My health has never been better, Grant,” I said, turning to face him. My voice was calm, carrying across the silent room. “And I am quite capable of casting my own vote.”
Grant’s eyes flickered with a brief flash of irritation before he smoothed his expression into one of gentle indulgence. “The doctors said—”
“The doctors said I needed rest,” I interrupted, stepping past him toward the head of the polished mahogany table. “They didn't say I was legally or mentally incapacitated. Sit down, Grant. We have a lot to discuss before we vote on the western division.”
The board members took their seats, looking uncomfortable under the sudden tension in the air. Ashford Meridian’s CEO, old Arthur Sterling—no relation to Grant, thankfully—cleared his throat.
“Eleanor, your husband presented us with documentation regarding your medical leave and proxy transfer,” Arthur said, adjusting his glasses. “If you are here to vote in person, we need formal verification from your cardiologist.”
“I have something better than a cardiologist’s note, Arthur,” I said.
I opened my leather portfolio, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table toward the CEO.
“Before we discuss the sale of the western division, I’d like the board to review a forensic audit of our recent supply chain contracts, specifically those brokered through Meridian-Sterling Holdings and jeweler Marcus Vance.”
Grant went completely rigid. The color drained from his face, leaving his skin the shade of wet parchment.
May you like
“What is this?” Grant asked, his voice losing its smooth composure, dropping an octave into something harsh and ragged.
“It’s an investigation into corporate espionage, insider asset stripping, and attempted corporate sabotage,” I said, locking eyes with my husband for the first time as an equal adversary. “And that’s only the civil side of the ledger.”
