Chapter 10 - The Northwestern Graduate
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Dela didn't flip to page one. She didn't fumble with the thick leather binder.
She held the document balanced effortlessly in one hand, pulled her mother's blue fountain pen from her suit pocket, and clicked the cap off with a crisp, authoritative sound.
"Section 4, Paragraph B," Dela began.
Her voice echoed across the quiet ballroom—not the soft, subservient voice of a waitress, but a clear, resonant bell of pure legal authority that commanded the entire room instantly.
The thirty-two guests stiffened in their chairs. Victor Sinclair’s smile faltered.
"Under Section 4, Paragraph B of this proposed agreement," Dela recited flawlessly without even looking at the page, "Vandermir Enterprises agrees to assume all prior legal and financial liabilities of Sinclair Maritime, including unrecorded debts incurred under Dock 44 operations from the fiscal years 2022 to 2024."
Arthur Vance, Victor’s lawyer, turned ghost-white. He half-stood from his chair. "What... who are you?!"
Dela turned a sharp, freezing gaze onto Vance.
"Furthermore," Dela continued, stepping closer to Victor Sinclair, "Section 12, Clause 8 attempts to slip in a fraudulent indemnity clause, shielding Sinclair Maritime’s board members from federal prosecution in the event of an ongoing Department of Justice audit."
Victor slammed his fist onto the table, standing up in a rage. "Silence! Who authorized this servant to speak?! Security, throw her out!"
"Nobody touches her," Augustine Vandermir commanded, his voice dark and deadly. He didn't stand up. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "Let the attorney finish."
Attorney?
The word rippled through the room like a shockwave.
"Attorney Delilah Hawthorne," Dela declared firmly, her voice carrying absolute command. "First in my class, Northwestern Law, Class of 2022. And senior legal researcher for the federal investigation into Dock 44."
Margot’s face drained completely of color. She backed away from the table, stumbling against her chair.
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Dela flipped the contract open to page thirty-nine, dropped her blue pen onto the paper, and drew a thick, heavy line through Victor Sinclair’s signature block.
"This contract isn't a merger agreement, Mr. Sinclair," Dela said, looking Victor dead in the eye. "It’s a forty-page confession of corporate fraud, bank concealment, and organized crime."
