Chapter 8: The Press Conference
The lobby of Vance Enterprises was transformed into a media circus by Thursday morning. Microphones sprouted like steel weeds from every podium, and television cameras craned their necks above a sea of reporters shouting overlapping questions. The flashbulbs popped in rapid, blinding succession, turning the white marble floors into a stroboscopic nightmare.
Julian stood near the back of the room, wearing a neat navy suit that made him look less like a grieving son and more like a corporate consultant. He kept his hands in his pockets, watching the side doors where the executive team was scheduled to enter.
At exactly nine o'clock, the side doors opened. But it wasn't Clara Vance who walked out first. It was Marcus Vance, looking older and greyer than his years, followed by three independent board members and the corporate legal counsel. Clara was nowhere to be seen.
A collective groan of disappointment and a surge of renewed shouting erupted from the press corps. Marcus raised a hand, stepping up to the microphone. The wall of flashing lights intensified, blindingly bright.
“Quiet, please. Quiet,” Marcus said, his voice echoing through the massive PA system. He cleared his throat, adjusting the collar of his white shirt. “Effective immediately, Clara Vance has stepped down as Chief Executive Officer of Vance Enterprises, pending an independent audit of historical payroll and pension allocations dating back to 1998.”
Before Marcus could finish his prepared statement, a reporter in the second row shoved forward, thrusting a microphone toward his face. “Mr. Vance! Is it true that the board was blackmailed by the children of former union leader Arthur Sterling? Is Clara Vance facing criminal charges for embezzlement and obstruction of justice?”
Marcus blinked, visibly shaken by the directness of the question. He looked toward the legal counsel, who stepped in to block the microphone. “We have no comment on ongoing legal proceedings or internal personnel matters at this time. The board is cooperating fully with federal investigators.”
Julian turned away from the podium, slipping unnoticed through the revolving glass doors and out onto the busy Manhattan sidewalk. He pulled out his phone and dialed Maeve’s number.
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“It’s done,” Julian said into the receiver as he walked toward the subway entrance. “She’s out. The board accepted her resignation an hour ago.”
“Good,” Maeve’s voice came through the speaker, calm and focused. “Meet me at the cemetery in Queens. We have one last stop to make before this is truly over.”
