Chapter 3 - The Boardroom Siege
Forty-eight hours later.
The high-rise headquarters of Mercer-Vance Logistics sat on the thirty-second floor of the Commerce Tower in downtown Chicago, overlooking the icy blue waters of Lake Michigan.
The emergency board meeting had been called for 10:00 AM.
I stood in the executive washroom attached to the corner suite, looking at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale, a neat butterfly bandage covering the wound on my temple. My left arm rested in a soft black sling to keep my injured shoulder immobilized, but beneath my tailored charcoal suit jacket, I felt stronger than I had in eight months.
Arthur Vance stood outside the door, tapping his brass-tipped cane against the marble floor.
"They're all inside, Evelyn," Arthur called out softly. "The eight remaining board members, the corporate treasurers, and the primary legal representatives for the Mercer estate."
"Are Daniel and Margaret’s attorneys here?" I asked, stepping out into the corridor.
"Harold Finch is here," Arthur said, a cold, dark smile touching his lips. "He spent the last forty-eight hours trying to secure bail for Margaret. The judge denied it this morning after reviewing the lobby video from Camera Seven."
My heart gave a firm, satisfying thud. "The video was clear?"
"Clear?" Arthur chuckled dryly. "It looks like a high-definition feature film. It catches Margaret pulling the envelope from her coat, Daniel grabbing your arm, Margaret shoving you down the stairs, and Daniel physically blocking the nurse. The District Attorney added a charge of tampering with a witness and felony assault."
I adjusted my sling, took a deep breath, and walked toward the heavy frosted-glass doors of the main boardroom.
When Arthur pushed the doors open, the chatter inside the room died instantly.
Eight senior executives—men and women who had worked alongside my father for two decades—sat around the twenty-foot mahogany conference table. At the far end sat Harold Finch, the sleek, overpriced defense lawyer representing the Mercer family, his face pale and sweating as he shuffled through a stack of legal filings.
I walked directly to the head of the table—the leather high-backed chair where my father had sat for thirty years—and remained standing.
"Good morning, members of the board," I said, my voice clear and ringing through the silent room.
Harold Finch cleared his throat loudly, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "Mrs. Mercer—or Mrs. Vance—as representative for Daniel Mercer, who currently holds fifty-one percent of the voting equity—"
"Daniel Mercer holds zero percent of this company, Mr. Finch," Arthur Vance interrupted, stepping up beside me and slamming a thick stack of court orders onto the center of the mahogany table.
Finch blinked, his eyes darting toward the documents. "What is that?"
"That," Arthur declared, "is a preliminary injunction issued by the Chancery Division of the Cook County Circuit Court at seven-thirty this morning. It formally annuls the fraudulent share transfer dated October 14th, restores full fifty-one percent voting control to Evelyn Vance, and places all assets held by Daniel and Margaret Mercer under federal receivership."
A collective gasp rippled around the table. Two senior board members exchange quick, wide-eyed glances.
"Furthermore," I spoke up, resting my uninjured right palm flat against the cool mahogany surface, "as controlling shareholder, I am executing an immediate motion to remove Margaret Mercer from the Board of Trustees, terminate Daniel Mercer’s employment as Chief Operating Officer for cause, and institute a forensic audit of every transaction authorized by the finance committee over the past six months."
Finch’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. "Mrs. Vance... please. My clients are prepared to discuss a settlement! If you agree to drop the corporate civil charges, Daniel is willing to sign a full, uncontested divorce settlement waiving all rights to marital property!"
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I leaned forward across the table, looking Finch directly in the eyes.
"Tell my husband," I whispered, "that I will see him in criminal court on Thursday."
