Chapter 7 - The Emergency Board
The executive boardroom on the thirty-fifth floor of Prescott Technologies was dead silent when I walked in at 6:45 AM.
The twenty-foot mahogany conference table reflected the pale, gray light of dawn breaking over the city. Around the table sat the four remaining independent board members, all of them looking exhausted and uneasy. They had received Daniel’s emergency summons at midnight, alerting them to an urgent fiduciary review regarding unauthorized capital transfers and severe compliance breaches.
At the far end of the table sat Marcus Vance. He had arrived ten minutes before me, looking as immaculate as ever in his charcoal suit, though the slight tension around his jaw betrayed his awareness that the ground beneath him had shifted.
I didn't take my usual seat near the foot of the table, the one Aaron always reserved for me when I attended public functions. Instead, I walked straight to the head of the table—the chair traditionally occupied by the CEO—and laid my leather folder down on the polished wood.
"Good morning, everyone," I said, my voice carrying clearly across the quiet room. "I apologize for the early hour, but we have a critical matter of governance to address before the markets open in New York and Zurich."
Marcus Vance cleared his throat, leaning back in his leather chair with a calculated, dismissive smile. "Before Mrs. Prescott proceeds with an unauthorized presentation, I must remind the board that a temporary restraining order and asset freeze remain active regarding her status as a primary stakeholder. Any actions taken by her this morning are legally void."
"Thank you, Marcus," I replied smoothly, opening the folder. "Which is precisely why the first order of business isn't my status. It’s yours."
I slid a stack of printed financial summaries across the table toward the lead independent board member, Arthur Sterling, a veteran tech investor who had backed Aaron from the beginning.
"If you open page four of that report, Arthur, you’ll see a breakdown of recurring wire transfers totaling one million dollars over the past six months," I continued, keeping my eyes fixed on the room. "They were funneled to an entity called Alpine Ventures—a shell company registered in Delaware under the control of Marcus Vance’s immediate family. Authorized by my husband, executed without board approval, and designed to siphon intellectual property assets right out from under this company."
Arthur Sterling’s eyebrows drew together as he scanned the document. He flipped the page, his expression hardening. "Marcus? What is the meaning of this? This is corporate asset diversion."
"These allegations are entirely unfounded," Marcus said, standing up smoothly, his voice firm and composed. "The Alpine Ventures transfers were part of an authorized exploratory research initiative for European expansion, fully vetted under executive privilege."
"Executive privilege doesn't cover wire transfers routed to your niece’s personal savings account, Marcus," I interrupted, pulling out a second document—the original partnership amendment Eleanor had handed me the night before. "And it certainly doesn't cover falsified corporate restructuring documents designed to strip the seed investor of their lawful equity."
I slid the original agreement across the table toward Arthur.
"That document bears my signature from two years ago," I said. "Or rather, it bears a digital overlay of my signature grafted onto a completely different set of clauses than the ones I reviewed. My forensic digital auditor has already verified the metadata timestamp. It’s an act of deliberate corporate fraud."
The boardroom erupted into murmurs. Two of the board members leaned in close to inspect the papers, their faces pale. Marcus Vance’s composure finally cracked; his professional smile vanished, replaced by a cold, calculating glare directed straight at me.
"You’re playing a very dangerous game, Alyssa," Marcus said softly, resting his hands on the back of his chair. "Aaron built this company. If you tear it down to settle a marital dispute, there won't be anything left for anyone."
"I’m not tearing it down, Marcus," I said, standing up to meet his gaze across the mahogany table. "I’m clearing out the rot. And the first step of that cleanup is terminating your retainer effective immediately."
Before Marcus could answer, the boardroom doors swung open.
May you like
Aaron stood in the doorway, having just stepped off the red-eye flight from Geneva. He looked disheveled, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his face pale with panic. He looked around the room, taking in the open folders, the grim expressions of the board members, and finally, my position at the head of the table.
"Alyssa," Aaron breathed, his voice tight with disbelief. "What have you done?"
