Chapter 3 - The Forensic Audit
Arthur Vance’s face turned an apocalyptic shade of crimson as he stared at the stolen propulsion blueprints on the giant screens.
He raised his silver cane and pointed it directly at Blake’s trembling chest.
“You traitorous parasite,” Arthur growled, his voice vibrating with pure, unadulterated fury.
“Your father-in-law gave you a vice presidency out of respect for his daughter, and you sold our proprietary defense patents to an overseas shell!”
Blake scrambled to his feet, sweat pouring down his forehead, ruining his five-thousand-dollar tuxedo shirt.
“Arthur, wait! The data transfer was never executed!” Blake shrieked, backing away from the board members who were retreating in disgust.
“The offshore entity was just an asset protection vehicle for Audrey’s estate!”
“My estate?” I stepped forward, holding a thick legal folder bound in dark blue calfskin that my forensic team had verified at dawn.
“Let’s talk about my estate, Blake.”
I opened the folder, projecting the unredacted probate records of the Thomas Vance Living Trust onto the central screens.
“When my father passed away eighteen months ago, he left fifty-one percent of AeroSpace Dynamics’ voting shares to me under an irrevocable sovereign trust.”
“Six months ago, you presented me with what you claimed were routine municipal tax documents to sign over breakfast.”
“In reality, you embedded a fraudulent power of attorney transferring my voting proxies to your personal holding company.”
Seraphina gasped, looking at Blake with sudden, wild panic in her eyes as she realized their legal shield was built on forged paper.
“You used my stolen voting shares to authorize your own executive bonuses and approve the merger with your Cayman entity,” I continued calmly.
“However, you forgot one critical detail about my father’s legal architecture, Blake.”
“My father never trusted corporate sons-in-law.”
“He placed a forensic trigger clause within the trust bylaws: any transfer of proxy authority without independent Swiss notarization automatically freezes all executive privileges.”
“Which means as of eight o'clock tonight, you own zero shares, you hold zero authority, and you are officially trespassing on my company’s property.”
Blake stared at me in sheer, suffocating terror as the security guards who had once saluted him stepped forward to block every exit.
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The man who had spent nine months calling me naive in text messages was now stripped of every dollar, every title, and every shred of power.
Damien stood beside me, his hand resting securely against the small of my back, watching the traitors drown in their own web of greed.
