Chapter 4 - THE BOARDROOM IN SHADOWS
The private recovery suite on the fourth floor was guarded by two armed officers hired through Julian’s personal security network. Inside, the only light came from the soft digital glow of Leo’s incubator monitor. He was sleeping, his tiny chest rising and falling in steady, miraculous rhythm. The pediatric team had confirmed that with proper medication, his mild ventricular defect would close naturally within six months. He was safe.
The heavy door clicked open, and Julian stepped into the room. He didn’t look like the broken man Fletcher had spent eight years mocking. His posture was military, his gray tailored suit immaculate, his presence commanding a gravity that sucked the air out of the room.
He stopped beside the incubator, staring down at Leo for a long, silent minute. When he turned to me, the hard lines around his mouth softened.
“Arthur would have loved him,” Julian said, his voice deep and raspy from smoke damage sustained years ago. “He has the Callaway chin. Fortunately, he seems to have your eyes, Serena. That guarantees he won’t grow up to be an idiot.”
I managed a weak, exhausted smile from the hospital bed. “You took a massive risk flying in from Aberdeen, Julian. Marcus Vance has informants at every maritime port and customs desk in the province.”
“Let Vance look,” Julian replied, walking to the foot of my bed and leaning on his cane. “He spent eight years thinking I was rotting in the Scottish Highlands. While he and Fletcher were busy bleeding the dry docks to pay for European villas and mistresses, I was acquiring the underlying debt of their holding companies through forty-two different European credit funds. Fletcher didn't just steal six million tonight, Serena. He triggered an accelerated maturity clause across the entire primary credit facility. By noon tomorrow, Callaway Maritime owes two hundred and forty million dollars. If it isn't paid, the board is dissolved by judicial decree.”
My legal instincts kicked in instantly, cutting through the residual fog of the spinal block. “Marcus Vance already has the emergency financing ready. That’s their entire game plan. Vance’s firm, Apex Marine, will offer to bail out Callaway Maritime by purchasing the Burrard Inlet deep-water terminal for two hundred and forty million. The board will vote in favor because Fletcher holds the swing vote. Once Vance owns the terminal, he terminates the longshoremen's union contract, lays off the sixteen hundred workers, and sells the harbor rights to overseas condominium developers for a billion dollars.”
“Exactly,” Julian said, a cold, predatory smile touching his scarred lips. “Which is why the board meeting tomorrow morning at ten o'clock will not be an ordinary liquidation session. It will be an execution.”
He opened a black leather briefcase and laid three documents on my movable tray.
“First: the formal revocation of Fletcher’s authority, signed by me as fifty-one percent holder of the voting trust. Second: the forensic audit showing the forty-eight fraudulent invoices linking Fletcher directly to Jade Moreau’s private accounts, which constitutes grand larceny and corporate embezzlement. And third...”
He tapped the final sheet of paper.
“The appointment of the new interim Chief Executive Officer and Managing Trustee of Callaway Maritime Logistics.”
I looked at the line where the name was typed in bold, embossed ink: SERENA CALLAWAY, ESQ.
“Julian, no,” I breathed, looking up at him. “I just gave birth four hours ago. I’m an attorney, not a shipping magnate. The board won't accept a woman who just divorced their golden boy, let alone someone recovering in a maternity ward.”
“The board won’t have a choice,” Julian said, leaning forward, his gray eyes locking onto mine with absolute conviction. “You wrote the charter that saved the union five years ago. The longshoremen don’t trust Fletcher, and they despise Vance. But they know your name. When the union president, Frank Russo, heard that you walked out on Fletcher while protecting their pension reserve, he personally pledged that sixteen hundred men will shut down every crane in the Pacific Northwest if the board tries to remove you. You are the only person who can keep this company from tearing itself apart.”
Before I could answer, my phone rang. It was an unlisted Vancouver number. I pressed answer and held it to my ear.
“Serena?”
It was Jade Moreau. Her voice was breathy, laced with false sweetness that couldn't conceal the trembling desperation underneath.
“Jade,” I said flatly.
“Look, Serena... I know you’re angry. Any woman would be,” she began, speaking quickly, as if reading from a script. “Fletcher is beside himself. He’s at the firm right now trying to fix the computer glitch you caused. But we need to talk like adults. You’re a mother now. You have a sick baby. Do you really want to drag this into family court? If you release the freeze on the Apex account tonight, Fletcher is willing to amend the divorce decree. He’ll give you the West Vancouver estate, five million in cash, and absolute sole custody of the boy. You never have to see us again.”
I listened to her, feeling an extraordinary, diamond-hard clarity settle into my bones.
“Jade,” I said calmly.
“Yes?” she asked, sounding relieved.
“The diamond ring Fletcher gave you last Thursday at the Fairmont Pacific Rim—the eight-carat emerald cut?”
A pause. “What about it?”
“The purchase order for that stone was billed as a replacement turbine rotor for Cargo Vessel 402,” I said evenly. “The invoice was submitted under your personal tax identification number. That isn’t a marital dispute, Jade. That is federal procurement fraud. When the financial crimes investigators arrive at the penthouse tomorrow morning, I suggest you take it off. It’s evidence.”
I terminated the call.
May you like
I turned to Julian. “Hand me a pen. And tell Owen to bring my navy suit to the hospital tomorrow at eight.”
Julian grinned, a terrifying, beautiful flash of teeth against his scarred skin. “That’s Arthur’s girl.”
