Chapter 7
The grand boardroom was a masterpiece of architectural design,
featuring a solid mahogany table that could seat fifty people,
surrounded by floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered an unobstructed view of the harbor.
As I entered,
the massive digital screens mounted on the walls flickered to life,
revealing the faces of our international board members from London,
Tokyo,
Frankfurt,
and New York.
Every single one of them was an industry titan,
a billionaire or a high-ranking political advisor,
yet the moment my image appeared on their screens,
they all leaned forward in unison,
their expressions filled with intense focus.
I walked to the head of the table,
the place where Brendan had always dreamed of sitting,
the place he believed his family legacy had guaranteed him by birthright.
I didn't sit down;
instead,
I unbuttoned Arthur’s wool coat,
letting it slide from my shoulders to reveal the full extent of my wet,
clinging dress to the entire board of directors.
A collective,
audible gasp echoed from the speakers around the room as the international members saw the state of their primary shareholder.
"Members of the board,"
I began,
my voice perfectly calm,
resonant,
and projecting through the high-grade audio system without a hint of hesitation.
"As you can see,
the activation of Protocol Seven tonight was not a drill,
nor was it an exaggeration of personal circumstances."
"Two hours ago,
while attending a family dinner at the corporate-owned residential estate in the suburbs,"
"I was subjected to physical intimidation,
corporate extortion,
and a direct physical assault by a non-executive employee of this company,
Brendan Morrison,
and his mother,
Diane Morrison."
I gestured to Arthur,
who immediately uploaded the high-definition security footage from the dining room directly onto the central presentation screens.
The board members watched in stunned,
silent horror as the video played out in real-time:
the smug laughter of Jessica Vale,
the deliberate shifting of Brendan’s shoulders to protect his clothes,
and the vicious,
cruel downward swing of Diane’s arms as she dumped the bucket of dirty ice water over my pregnant body.
"Oh my God,"
murmured Lord Harrington,
the senior board member from London,
his aristocratic face flushing with a deep,
crimson anger.
"This is not just a violation of corporate ethics;
this is a barbaric,
criminal act against the person who holds the ultimate controlling interest of this entire enterprise!"
"It is an act of supreme ignorance,
Harrington,"
I countered,
my eyes scanning the screens to lock onto each member’s gaze.
"They believed that because I kept my identity hidden behind the sovereign trust,
because I chose to live without ostentation,
I was powerless."
"They believed that a woman’s worth is defined by how much noise she makes or how much money her husband allows her to spend."
I pressed a button on the central console,
bringing up the master corporate restructuring plan that I had prepared months ago during the height of my divorce proceedings.
"Effective immediately,
Morrison Global Holdings will undergo a complete and total rebranding phase."
"The name 'Morrison' will be stripped from every building,
every letterhead,
every subsidiary corporation,
and every marketing asset owned by this conglomerate worldwide."
"We will re-emerge on the global market tomorrow morning under our original foundational name:
The Sovereign Vanguard Trust."
"Furthermore,"
I continued,
looking directly at the compliance officer on the screen from New York,
"all legacy shares distributed to the extended Morrison family as part of the historical partnership agreement are hereby canceled under the bad-faith and moral turpitude clauses of Section Twelve of our charter."
"They will receive no financial compensation,
no buyout options,
and no residual royalty streams from our intellectual property."
A heavy,
reverent silence filled the boardroom as the executives realized the sheer scale of the devastation I was unleashing.
With a single stroke of my pen,
I was not just removing Brendan from his job;
I was entirely erasing his family’s name,
history,
and fortune from the face of the corporate world.
"Are there any objections from the board?"
I asked,
my hand hovering over the digital signing pad that would finalize the executive order.
Not a single person spoke;
not a single hand was raised on the video screens.
Lord Harrington looked at me,
his expression filled with deep admiration and respect.
"You have our full,
unanimous support,
Chairwoman,"
he said softly.
"Sign the order,
and let us purge these parasites from our organization once and for all."
I brought down my thumb onto the biometric scanner,
and with a sharp,
May you like
electronic chime,
the old Morrison empire ceased to exist.
