Chapter 2 - The Severed Proxy
"What did you say?" Adrian's voice dropped an octave, the authority he usually commanded in corporate boardrooms sounding thin and brittle against the apartment walls. "What kind of sick joke is this? Where is she?"
"It is not a joke, Mr. Vale," Noah said, stepping forward just enough to place the manila folder on the marble counter. "Claire was rushed to Saint Jude Memorial last Tuesday night. Severe placental abruption. The medical staff did everything they could, but... the baby didn't make it."
Adrian stared at the folder, his hands resting on the edge of the stone counter. The words registered in his brain one by one, refusing to form a coherent sentence. Lost the baby. Tuesday night. Tuesday night was the exact moment he and Celeste had been sitting on the private veranda in Napa, sharing a bottle of vintage Pinot Noir while his phone buzzed incessantly against the mahogany table. He had silenced it, annoyed that Claire was interrupting his dinner with domestic anxiety.
"No," Adrian muttered, shaking his head sharply as if clearing away static. "That's impossible. She was fine. She had three weeks left. This is... she's trying to punish me for the Napa trip. She orchestrated this whole drama to guilt me."
"She was bleeding out on the kitchen floor while you were out of cellular range, sir," Noah said, his voice hardening with a sudden, unexpected fury. "I called your emergency line seven times. I left voicemails. I texted your private device. You told me not to bother you unless the corporate accounts were frozen."
Adrian reached out, his fingers trembling as he grabbed the manila folder and ripped it open.
Inside sat a stack of legal documents bearing the letterhead of Sterling & Vance, our corporate counsel. But the document on top wasn't a standard divorce petition. It was an emergency corporate resolution.
Notice of Revocation of Voting Proxy.
Adrian's eyes scanned the legal boilerplate, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. For five years, the voting shares belonging to the estate of Arthur Meridian—fifty-two percent of the entire voting block of Vale Meridian—had been voted exclusively by Adrian under a notarized proxy agreement signed shortly after our wedding.
The revocation was signed in my neat, steady handwriting, dated six days ago, stamped by the county clerk at 8:15 AM—twelve hours after our son had died.
"This is invalid," Adrian breathed, his face flushing a violent crimson. "She can't revoke this without a three-member board review and a sixty-day notification window. I am the CEO!"
"You were the CEO," Noah corrected quietly, turning toward the door. "The emergency board meeting was convened at nine o'clock this morning. By unanimous consent of the remaining trustees, your voting rights have been suspended pending an internal ethics investigation into corporate asset misuse—specifically, the Napa resort charges billed to the R&D account."
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Before Adrian could draw another breath to roar his fury, his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
It wasn't an office extension. It was the security desk downstairs at Vale Meridian headquarters, informing him that his keycard had been deactivated.
