Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Ambush
Morning arrived with the grey, biting chill of an autumn storm. Rain lashed against the towering glass facade of the Blackwood Tower in the financial district.
On the forty-second floor, the atmosphere inside the executive boardroom was electric with tension. At the head of the conference table sat Julian Blackwood, Adrian's paternal cousin. Julian wore an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, his golden watch catching the light as he tapped impatiently on the polished mahogany. Beside him sat three senior board members, looking visibly uncomfortable.
"The physician’s latest report leaves no room for sentimentality, gentlemen," Julian declared, projecting a solemn, grief-stricken tone. "Adrian’s cognitive and physical decline has accelerated. Last night’s tragic... incident at the manor proved that he is no longer capable of basic self-preservation, let alone steering a multinational conglomerate."
"Has Vanessa confirmed his condition?" one of the directors, an elderly man named Harrison, asked cautiously. "We haven't heard from her since yesterday evening."
Julian waved a dismissive hand. "Vanessa is distraught. She watched him nearly plunge down the grand staircase due to his own deteriorating motor functions. She has formally signed over her proxy rights to me as his primary conservator. We must vote now to transfer executive control."
"Then you won't mind if the patient registers his own vote?"
The heavy frosted-glass doors swung open with explosive force.
Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance. Julian’s smug smile vanished as the color drained instantly from his face.
Adrian Blackwood walked into the boardroom. He did not use a cane. He did not lean on the doorframe. Dressed in a bespoke three-piece midnight-blue suit, his stride was steady, deliberate, and commanding. Flanking him was Emma, walking with a slight limp, carrying a thick leather dossier under her arm, followed by three detectives in trench coats.
"A-Adrian?" Julian stammered, his chair screeching against the hardwood as he shoved himself to his feet. "You... you’re walking?"
"Remarkable what a little physical therapy and the removal of slow-acting neurotoxins from one's daily tea can do," Adrian said smoothly. He walked directly to the head of the table. Julian unconsciously stumbled backward, yielding the master chair.
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Adrian did not sit. He rested his palms on the polished surface and leaned forward, his piercing gaze pinning Julian to the wall.
"You thought thirty steps would do what a severed brake line couldn't, Julian?" Adrian whispered, loud enough for the entire room to shudder. "Let’s review the morning agenda."
