Chapter 10: The Board Room
The emergency session was held on a Wednesday morning at nine o'clock on the forty-eighth floor.
Twelve board members.
Two empty chairs — both Marcus's allies who had, according to Patricia Howe, developed sudden scheduling conflicts overnight.
Ivan stood against the wall near the door in a dark suit.
Not at the table.
He wasn't a board member.
But Jessi had asked him to be in the room, and Thomas had found no procedural objection.
Marcus arrived with two lawyers and Gerald Fitch, which was either bold or desperate.
Ivan wasn't sure which yet.
Jessi presented first.
Forty minutes.
Clean, precise, documented.
The transfer records — now complete, all twenty-one months — the shell company, the Gerald Fitch connection, the Carol Reeves statement, the Derek Soll photographs, the documented link between Soll and Marcus's prior engagements.
She didn't raise her voice once.
When she finished, the room was very quiet.
Marcus's lead attorney stood.
"The competency petition stands independent of these allegations, which are unsubstantiated and—"
"The petition is withdrawn," Marcus said.
Everyone looked at him.
His attorney turned.
"Marcus—"
"I said it's withdrawn." His voice was flat.
He was looking at the Soll photographs on the table in front of Leonard Chu.
"Effective immediately."
Patricia Howe leaned forward.
"Mr.
Sterling.
The financial transfer documentation requires a formal response.
Withdrawal of the petition doesn't close that matter."
"I'm aware."
"Gerald Fitch's involvement as registered agent of the receiving entity raises questions that the board will need to—"
"I said I'm aware, Patricia." His voice cracked slightly on her name.
Just slightly.
Gerald Fitch had not moved since the photographs appeared on the table.
He was staring at a point on the wall approximately two feet above everyone's heads.
Renata Osei, the newest board member, spoke for the first time.
She was forty-four, composed, and had been listening with the focused stillness of someone building a complete picture before speaking.
"Mrs.
Sterling.
The medical records referenced in the original petition — your treatment history following the accident.
Are you prepared to address that directly?"
"Yes," Jessi said.
She stood.
Reached into the folder in front of her.
Placed a single document on the table — Carol Reeves's full statement, co-signed by Thomas Greer and a second attorney.
"My injuries were more severe than publicly reported," Jessi said.
"I made a decision to manage that information carefully during my recovery.
I did not deceive the board about my capacity to perform my duties.
My performance record over the past fourteen months speaks to that." She paused.
"However, I acknowledge that the full disclosure should have come sooner.
I take responsibility for that decision."
Renata looked at the statement.
Then at Jessi.
"Thank you for saying that directly."
Marcus stood.
His two lawyers stood with him.
Gerald Fitch stood a half-second later, like a man who had forgotten he was supposed to be following a lead.
"This isn't over," Marcus said.
He was looking at Jessi, not the board.
"Marcus." Patricia Howe's voice was quiet and absolute.
"Sit down or leave.
Those are your options."
He left.
His lawyers followed.
Gerald Fitch paused at the door and looked back at the table — at the photographs, at the transfer records, at the twenty-one months of documentation laid out in clean, numbered order.
Then he left without saying anything.
The door closed.
Patricia looked at the remaining board members.
"I move that the competency petition be formally noted as withdrawn and that the financial transfer documentation be referred to external audit with a ninety-day reporting deadline."
"Seconded," said Leonard Chu.
The vote was unanimous.
Ivan watched from the wall.
He didn't move until the last board member had filed out and the room was empty except for Jessi and Thomas.
Thomas was already on his phone, walking toward the far window, speaking quietly.
Jessi stood at the head of the table.
She didn't move for a moment.
She looked at the empty chairs, the documents still spread across the polished wood, the city visible through the floor-to-ceiling glass behind her.
Ivan crossed the room and stood beside her.
"It's done," he said.
"The audit will take ninety days," she said.
"His lawyers will fight it."
"They'll lose."
"Probably." She looked at the empty chair where Marcus had been sitting.
"He's my brother."
"I know."
"I've known he was doing this for two years.
I built a case instead of calling him." She paused.
"I kept thinking he'd stop.
That he'd realize what he was risking."
"He didn't."
"No." She was quiet for a moment.
"He threatened a child to protect himself.
That's who he became." She said it without anger.
Just the flat, final weight of a fact.
Ivan didn't say anything.
Sometimes there was nothing useful to say.
After a moment, Jessi straightened.
Picked up the folder in front of her.
"I need to call Carol Reeves."
"I'll let Pete know he can stand down."
"Tell him thank you.
From me."
"I will."
She started toward the door, then stopped.
Turned back.
"The ninety days are up," she said.
"The arrangement.
You've more than fulfilled it."
Ivan looked at her.
"I know."
"The dissolution paperwork is with Thomas.
Whenever you're ready."
"Okay."
She nodded.
Walked to the door.
Stopped again, her hand on the frame, her back to him.
"Fiona's specialist appointment is Thursday," she said.
"The one we booked through the new insurance.
I'd like to know how it goes.
If that's — if you're willing to tell me."
"I'll tell you," Ivan said.
She left.
Ivan stood in the empty boardroom for a moment.
The documents were still on the table.
The city was still out there behind the glass.
Somewhere across town, Pete Callahan was standing down from a post he'd taken without asking why, because Ivan had called and asked.
He picked up his phone and called Pete.
"It's done," he said when Pete answered.
"Good." A pause.
"The little girl okay?"
"She's fine.
Her mom's fine."
"Good," Pete said again.
"You okay?"
Ivan looked at the empty chair at the head of the table.
At the folder Jessi had left behind by mistake — or maybe not by mistake.
Her name on the tab, in her own handwriting.
May you like
"Yeah," he said.
"I think I am."
