Chapter 5 - The Final Countdown
I walked out of the glass-walled executive conference room without looking back.
The plush carpets of the third-floor suite muffled my footsteps as I moved toward the private elevator lobby. Behind me, I could hear the faint, muffled sound of Madison screaming hysterically at Nathan, followed by the frantic dialing of a cell phone as they tried desperately to reach their panicked investors before the clock ran out.
Arthur followed me at a steady, unhurried pace, his tweed jacket rustling softly with every step.
When we reached the private elevator, Arthur pressed the brass call button. The doors slid open instantly, revealing a polished wood-paneled interior reserved exclusively for executive trustees.
"Well, Emma," Arthur said, a rare, proud smile touching the corners of his mouth as the doors closed around us, shutting out the chaos of the conference suite. "That was certainly more dramatic than your usual charity board meetings."
"It was overdue, Grandpa," I replied, letting out a long, slow breath as the elevator began its smooth, silent descent toward the ground floor lobby. "He stopped listening to reason a long time ago. Sometimes people only learn who you are when you take away everything they thought they owned."
"What are your plans for the afternoon?" Arthur asked, adjusting his reading glasses as he tucked his leather portfolio back under his arm. "The board of Vance Holdings is meeting at three. Several members were hoping you would finally step in as chief executive officer."
I looked down at my simple cream cardigan, then back up at the polished brass numbers ticking downward on the elevator wall.
"Let's let Nathan make his presentation first," I said quietly, a faint, dangerous smile touching my lips. "I want to watch him try to sell fifty million dollars of thin air while his servers go dark from the inside out."
The elevator chimed softly, and the heavy brass doors slid open to reveal the sprawling, sunlit marble lobby of Apex Tower.
Dozens of corporate employees, couriers, and visitors bustled across the polished floor, completely unaware that the multi-million-dollar tech empire occupying their upper floors was about to collapse.
As I stepped out onto the marble, my phone buzzed in my hand.
I pulled it out and looked at the screen.
It was an incoming call from an unknown local number, but the caller ID pinged straight from the third-floor conference room. I didn't answer. I let it ring twice, then sent it straight to voicemail.
A second later, a text message popped up on my screen, typed in desperate, all-caps panic from Nathan's personal cell phone:
May you like
EMMA, PLEASE. WHERE ARE YOU? THE BUILDING TECHS JUST LOCKED DOWN THE SERVER VAULTS AND THE BOARD IS THREATENING TO PULL THE FUNDING! NAME YOUR PRICE. JUST TELL ME WHAT IT TAKES TO FIX THIS!
I stopped walking, staring down at the glowing screen for a fraction of a second. Then I typed out a single, definitive reply, hit send, and slipped my phone back into my pocket before walking out the revolving glass doors into the bright afternoon sun.
