Chapter 4 - CABIN CONFRONTATION
Marcus didn't speak for five full seconds. When he did, his voice was stripped of all its usual boardroom polish. "Your children? Luca, what in God's name are you talking about?"
"Thomas Sterling was Jessi's father," I said, keeping my back to the first-class cabin and my eyes locked down the aisle. "Flynn forged my name on cease-and-desist orders, intercepted her mail, and used Vance Global resources to run her into the ground while she was nursing our premature twins. He’s using her desperation to force the board to accept Arden's fire-sale offer tonight."
"That bastard," Marcus whispered viciously. "Luca, if this goes public, Vance Global's stock will crater forty percent by the opening bell on Friday. The SEC will open a criminal inquiry into the entire executive committee."
"I don't give a damn about the stock, Marcus," I said, each word hitting like an iron strike. "I care about Harborlight. I care about Jessi. And I care about the two kids sitting back there who don't even know what their father sounds like when he isn't barking orders into a phone. I need you to pull the emergency corporate ledger. Freeze Flynn’s executive operating authority under Article 9 of the founder's charter."
"I can't do that unilaterally without your physical presence or a notarized digital thumbprint from the primary key fob," Marcus answered, frustration bleeding through the speaker. "The key fob is in your briefcase, isn't it?"
"It’s in my briefcase," I said. "In seat 3A."
"Then you have to log in through the Vance secure server, execute the suspension, and submit it before Flynn initiates the proxy vote at eleven-fifteen. If he calls the vote and the Sterling board ratifies the Arden merger before your suspension hits the Delaware corporate registry, Arden gets ownership of the underlying code automatically. Even if we prove fraud later, it’ll be tied up in federal chancery courts for five years. By then, Arden will have buried the patents in a vault."
"They won't get it," I said. "Meet me at Denver International. Private terminal, Gate 4. Have two armored Suburbans and a mobile notary ready. We ride straight to the Brown Palace."
I hung up, took a slow, steady breath, and walked back to row three.
I popped open the overhead bin, pulled down my leather briefcase, and took out my secure laptop. As I turned to walk back to coach, I noticed the flight attendant—a woman named Claire who had served me on several corporate charters—watching me with a cautious look.
"Mr. Vance? Is everything alright back there?"
"Everything is fine, Claire," I said quietly. "In fact, could you do me a favor? Could you bring two warm milks and some fruit to row twenty-seven? And whatever breakfast pastries you have left."
Claire’s eyes widened slightly. "Of course, Mr. Vance."
I carried the laptop down the aisle and slid back into the seat next to Jessi.
Leo was awake now, sitting upright, holding his red crayon tightly in his small fist. He looked up at me with huge, curious green eyes—my eyes, framed by his mother’s long, delicate eyelashes.
"You have a computer," he said matter-of-factly.
"I do," I said, softening my voice in a way that felt entirely foreign to my throat. "Do you like computers, Leo?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I like fire trucks. And trains."
"Fire trucks are better," I agreed, a genuine smile breaking across my face for the first time in years. "They go faster."
Jessi watched us, her arms still wrapped around Maya, who was sleeping with her little face pressed against Jessi's collarbone. Jessi’s eyes were guarded, but the fierce, barricaded hatred from twenty minutes ago had softened into an agonizing, fragile confusion.
"What did Marcus say?" she asked quietly.
"He said Flynn has off-duty cops at the boardroom door," I replied, opening the encrypted laptop and connecting the hardware token. "He said Flynn is planning to use a forged proxy to vote on behalf of the Sterling family shares if you aren't there to sign."
"He can do that?"
"He can do it if no one stops him," I muttered, typing my thirty-two-character alpha-numeric master passphrase. "My father wrote an emergency override clause into the Vance Global bylaws after a hostile takeover attempt in 1998. It allows the CEO to unilaterally suspend any officer suspected of breach of fiduciary duty, pending a full board review within forty-eight hours. If I execute it, Flynn's credentials are revoked instantly. His access to the corporate treasury is frozen, and his legal power of attorney is nullified."
The progress bar on the screen crawled forward: AUTHENTICATING SECURE BIOMETRIC KEY... 45%... 68%... 89%...
Then the screen flashed a sickening, amber warning:
ACCESS DENIED. ADMINISTRATIVE CREDENTIALS TEMPORARILY LOCKED PENDING DISCIPLINARY INQUIRY. INITIATED BY COO FLYNN VANCE. REASON: SUSPECTED INSIDER TRADING AND CONFLICT OF INTEREST.
I stared at the screen, a cold fury rising behind my eyes.
"What does it say?" Jessi asked, leaning forward, sensing the sudden shift in my posture.
"He anticipated me," I said, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "Flynn used the corporate compliance protocols to file a preemptive flag against my account twenty minutes ago. Because I'm in transit and didn't respond to the automated compliance ping within fifteen minutes, the system locked my administrative override."
"Which means?"
"Which means I can't suspend him digitally from this plane," I said, slamming the laptop shut with a decisive snap. "The only way to stop him now is in person. At that table. With the original articles of incorporation in my hand."
Just then, the pilot’s voice crackled over the PA system:
"Ladies and gentlemen, we've begun our initial descent into Denver International. Weather reports indicate heavy snow and freezing conditions with ground holds active across the metro area. Ground transportation may experience severe delays. Please ensure your seat belts are fastened..."
I checked my watch.
May you like
8:50 P.M.
We were forty minutes away from landing. That left us less than two hours to get through the airport, navigate a blizzard across thirty miles of iced-over interstate, and breach a boardroom guarded by armed men before the clock struck midnight.
