Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Coup
The Mitchell Group headquarters gleamed under the gray afternoon sky, an ivory tower built on four generations of steel and logistics. But inside the thirty-fifth floor executive suite, blood was already in the water.
Ethan burst through the glass doors, Clara trailing behind him wrapped in an oversized trench coat. She refused to stay in the hospital, knowing that if she remained hidden, the narrative would continue without her defense. Her body ached with every step, the twins active beneath her ribs as if reacting to the storm brewing in the boardroom.
Inside, the board of directors sat around the mahogany table. At the head sat Harold Mitchell, Ethan’s estranged uncle and the primary rival for majority control. Beside Harold stood Victoria, calm and collected once more, holding a sleek black tablet.
"You're late, Ethan," Harold said smoothly, tapping his signet ring against the wood. "Though I suppose running around after your soon-to-be ex-wife took priority over the company’s impending insolvency."
"Shut your mouth, Harold," Ethan snapped, slamming his palms onto the table. "You used Victoria to feed me fabricated hotel bookings and forged bank trails to isolate Clara. You tried to ruin my marriage so I’d look unstable before the shareholder vote."
Victoria smiled thinly. "Ethan, don't project your marital paranoia onto business matters. We didn't forge anything. In fact, thirty minutes ago, half a billion dollars from our secondary acquisition fund was routed into an anonymous Swiss account registered under Clara's maiden name."
The board members began whispering frantically, throwing glances of disgust toward Clara.
Clara stepped forward, ignoring the throbbing pain in her lower back. She laid the fresh, embossed medical folder directly on the mahogany table alongside her cracked personal phone.
"Check the timestamp of the transfer," Clara commanded, her voice ringing clear and steady across the room.
Harold chuckled patronizingly. "It was sent at 2:15 PM, Clara. You were out of the clinic."
"At 2:15 PM," Clara countered, "I was under continuous electronic fetal monitoring in Room 304 at Saint Jude's. The machine logs vitals and biometrics second-by-second to the hospital’s cloud. But more importantly, Harold... my personal phone was left in Ethan’s vehicle. The IP address used to authorize the transfer didn't come from a mobile network."
Marcus stepped up behind Ethan, plugging a hard drive into the master projector. "The signal originated from within this very room. Specifically, from the private terminal registered to Victoria Cole."
Victoria’s calm mask cracked, revealing sheer, unbridled terror.
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"You sloppy amateur," Harold snarled, but his anger wasn't directed at Ethan—it was aimed at Victoria. And before anyone could call security, Victoria lunged forward, grabbing Clara’s arm with brutal force.
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