Chapter 14 - Storming Vance Dynamics|
At 8:25 AM, the glass skyscraper housing Vance Dynamics’ corporate headquarters gleamed brightly in the morning sun.
Inside the high-tech, executive boardroom on the 50th floor, Silas Vance stood at the head of a long mahogany conference table. He wore a brand-new suit, his hair combed back immaculately, radiating an aura of total confidence.
Seated around the table were six board members.
“Where is Dr. Kessler?” one female director asked, checking her watch. “And where is Julian Cross?”
“Dr. Kessler called to say he’s running a few minutes late due to traffic,” Silas lied smoothly, pouring himself a glass of water. “And Mr. Cross is unfortunately sidelined with severe illness.”
Silas rested his hands on the table, surveying the room.
“Given the urgent nature of our upcoming DoD contract signing at noon, we must proceed immediately,” Silas announced, his voice filled with fake solemnity. “It is with a heavy heart that I must move to vote on Resolution 409—the temporary suspension of Mara Vance as Chief Innovation Officer due to severe medical and psychological incapacitation.”
A uncomfortable murmur rippled across the board members.
“Silas, is Mara really that ill?” another director asked hesitantly. “She was fine last week.”
“Regrettably, pregnancy complications have triggered severe psychological instability,” Silas claimed, shaking his head sorrowfully. “She has become delusional, making absurd accusations against executive staff. For the safety of the company, we must strip her clearance.”
Silas raised his hand.
“All those in favor of Resolution 409, raise your—”
BOOM!
The heavy double oak doors of the boardroom were thrown open with such violent force that the magnetic locks shattered instantly, sending wood splinters flying across the marble foyer.
Every director gasped, spinning around in their chairs.
Silas dropped his glass of water, shattering it on the table.
Stepping through the ruined doorway was a woman in an elegant, tailored black maternity suit. Her dark hair was styled impeccably, her face proud and sharp—despite the noticeable dark bruise on her cheekbone.
She was seated in a sleek motorized wheelchair, driven by a crisp female attorney.
Walking directly beside her was an older man in a faded leather jacket, flanked by eight towering bodyguards in dark suits.
I looked straight down the length of the conference table, locking eyes with my terrified husband.
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“Did I miss the vote, Silas?” I asked cleanly.
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