Chapter 10 - The Cornered Rat
Richard backed away from the table, his eyes darting toward the secondary executive exit near the presentation screen.
“Don't touch me,” Richard hissed, his voice dropping into a desperate, manic register. “Do you know who I am? Do you know who my family is? My uncle sits on the Second Circuit Court of Appeals! You touch me, and you’ll be directing traffic in Staten Island by sundown!”
“Your uncle resigned twenty minutes ago, Mr. Foster,” Evelyn said without looking up from her tablet. “The Department of Justice unsealed an indictment naming him as an unindicted co-conspirator in your offshore laundering scheme. The Foster family political capital is officially zero.”
Richard’s gaze swung wildly around the table.
“Abernathy! Talk to them! We built this firm together! You know she’s lying!”
Abernathy didn't look at him. He slowly turned his chair ninety degrees away from Richard, facing the Central Park windows in cold, silent repudiation.
“Chloe?” Richard pleaded, looking down at his mistress.
Chloe was already typing frantically on her phone, tears ruining her mascara. “I’m calling my lawyer, Richard. Don't look at me. Don't ever look at me again.”
The two U.S. Marshals moved around the table, flanking Detective Miller.
Richard saw the circle closing. With a sudden, explosive burst of panic, he lunged sideways, shoving Pendelton into the path of the nearest marshal, and slammed his shoulder against the private emergency exit door.
The door had a crash bar. It flew open, triggering a high-pitched security alarm that wailed through the entire floor.
“Suspect fleeing down the north stairwell!” the marshal shouted into his shoulder radio, drawing his taser and bolting through the doorway.
Detective Miller turned to me, his hand on his holster. “Mrs. Foster, stay here with Miss Cruz. Building security has the lobby locked down. He won't make it past the turnstiles.”
The officers tore down the stairs after him, the heavy door slamming shut in their wake.
The boardroom remained in absolute, stunned silence, the alarm continuing its rhythmic, piercing scream.
I walked over to the head of the table. I picked up the heavy leather executive chair Richard had occupied for five years, set it upright, and sat down.
The pain in my ribs was agonizing, but my spine was straight.
I looked at the seven remaining board members.
“Gentlemen,” I said, resting my bandaged hands on the polished wood. “We have an eight-million-dollar margin call due at noon. As the majority shareholder and newly appointed interim CEO of Sterling-Foster Enterprises, I propose we liquidate Richard Foster’s personal equity to satisfy Continental Trust immediately.”
Abernathy turned back to face me. He looked at my bruised face, then down at the blue folders on the table.
He slowly raised his right hand.
May you like
“Seconded,” Abernathy said.
One by one, every remaining board member raised their hands.
