Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
At 9:00 a.m. the following morning, the top floor of the Vance Medical Tower in downtown San Jose was buzzing with nervous energy.
The emergency board meeting of MedVance Systems had been called by my brother, Mason. He had used the forged stock transfer documents to declare an emergency corporate restructuring, summoning our seven major institutional investors and legal counsel.
Inside the glass-walled boardroom, Mason sat at the head of the long mahogany table, wearing an expensive designer suit he had bought with my mother's credit card. Sitting proudly on his right was Rosalind, wearing a silk dress, holding a cup of espresso with her pinky extended, looking like a queen presiding over her court.
"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," Mason announced, standing up and buttoning his jacket. He placed a thick leather binder on the center of the table. "As you know, my brother Ethan has recently suffered severe personal strain, leading to domestic instability and gross mismanagement of company assets. Per our late father's wishes and recent corporate equity adjustments, I am stepping in as majority shareholder and CEO effective immediately."
The board members looked at one another in confusion.
"Mason," one senior investor, Mr. Sterling, asked, frowning. "Ethan holds sixty percent of the voting stock, and Daphne holds twenty. Where are these 'equity adjustments' coming from?"
"Right here," Rosalind spoke up, her voice dripping with artificial sympathy. "Daphne voluntarily surrendered her shares yesterday due to her health complications, and Ethan's personal holdings have been transferred to the family trust I manage."
Mason smiled triumphantly, reaching out to open the binder. "We have the notarized affidavits right—"
The heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open with a loud, reverberating boom.
I walked into the room.
I wasn't wearing a suit. I wore simple dark jeans, a black shirt, and a look on my face that made the entire boardroom go dead silent. Beside me walked Marcus Vance, my lead corporate litigation attorney, along with two plainclothes detectives from the San Jose Police Department's Financial Crimes Unit.
Mason's smile froze. "Ethan? What is the meaning of this? You can't just barge into an executive session!"
"Sit down, Mason," I said quietly.
"You have no authority here!" Rosalind shrieked, standing up and pointing her manicured finger at me. "You pushed me out of your house yesterday! You're an ungrateful, disobedient son! Show some respect!"
I didn't answer her. I walked straight to the main presentation podium at the front of the room, plugged a USB drive into the integrated media system, and hit play.
The room's massive 85-inch 4K presentation screens lit up.
First played the high-definition night-vision video from my study: Mason breaking into the safe with his electronic bypass tool, Rosalind greedily stuffing gold bars into her handbag, and Mason explicitly stating his plan to force a pregnant Daphne to sign forged surrender papers under physical distress.
Gasps of horror erupted from the board members. Mr. Sterling stood up, staring at the screen in utter disgust.
"What... what is that?!" Mason stammered, his face turning an ash-gray color. "That's... that's edited! That's AI-generated!"
"Wait, there's more," I said smoothly.
I clicked the remote.
The screen shifted to a second video file—the live footage recorded yesterday noon by my hallway camera.
The entire boardroom watched in breathless silence as Rosalind lounged in her armchair, eating dessert while forcing my eight-month-pregnant wife to scrub her feet in ginger water. The speakers broadcasted Rosalind's sharp, cruel voice: “Scrub harder... After all, you're living off my son's money.”
And then came the moment Rosalind lifted her foot and kicked Daphne in the stomach, followed by Daphne's agonizing scream.
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Rosalind dropped her espresso cup. The porcelain shattered against the marble floor, hot coffee splashing across her silk dress. She backed away until her spine hit the glass wall, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.
"My God..." Mr. Sterling whispered, turning his eyes away from the screen, looking at Rosalind with pure hatred. "You monsters."
