Chapter 12 - The Boardroom of Vipers
The audio feed from the computer terminal crackled slightly before Marcus Vance’s smooth, measured voice filled the damp archive room.
"You always were too sentimental for your own good, Jonathan," Marcus said through the intercom, his tone dripping with patronizing amusement. "Eleanor was the same way. She thought hiding a few legal documents in a diary would save her from the realities of corporate succession. Look where it got her—six feet under, while the company moves forward without missing a beat."
Jonathan gripped the edge of the metal desk, his knuckles turning white. "You killed her," Jonathan growled, his voice vibrating with a lethal intensity that echoed off the stone walls. "You and Arthur staged the whole thing. The stairwell, the security override—it was all coordinated by the board."
"Let’s call it a necessary restructuring," Marcus replied smoothly, taking a slow sip from a crystal glass of scotch visible on the webcam feed. "Eleanor refused to sign over Evelyn’s proxy voting rights to the pharmaceutical board. Without those shares, our merger with the Asian conglomerate falls through. Clara was simply... a very enthusiastic instrument in persuading your late wife to reconsider her stubbornness."
"Evelyn is a toddler!" Jonathan shouted, slamming his hand against the desk. "She’s your own flesh and blood, you sociopathic monster!"
"Blood is just a biological currency, Jonathan," Marcus retorted, his expression hardening into something cold and corporate. "Dynasties aren't built on nursery rhymes and bedtime stories; they are built on patents, acquisitions, and absolute control. And as of midnight tonight, the board has unanimously voted to strip you of your executive powers under Section 4 of the corporate charter, citing mental instability following the tragic loss of your wife."
Jonathan’s breath caught in his throat. "You can't do that. The legal custody documents are already filed with the federal courts."
"Courts can be influenced, Jonathan. Judges retire, prosecutors misplace files, and grieving fathers unfortunately suffer tragic accidents in old, dimly lit basements," Marcus smiled coldly, raising his glass toward the camera. "Goodbye, nephew. Give my regards to Eleanor when you see her."
The webcam feed cut to a black screen with a sharp click.
A second later, a low, mechanical grinding sound echoed from above. Jonathan looked up just as water began spraying from the overhead fire suppression system—not with water, but with a thick, acrid gas that smelled faintly of industrial solvent.
Jonathan coughed, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve as the dense fog rapidly filled the archive room. The keypad outside flashed red once, twice, and then permanently died.
May you like
Trapped deep underground with the oxygen supply rapidly depleting, Jonathan stumbled backward, his vision blurring as he reached blindly along the stone wall for any hidden latch or emergency release. His fingers brushed against a loose brick near the floorboards—and with a sudden click, a hidden panel swung open, revealing a dark, narrow drainage tunnel leading out toward the estate’s greenhouse.
---
