Marcus walked in first. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit, his posture completely relaxed, a leather briefcase swinging loosely at his side. Sarah followed half a step behind him. She had replaced her ruined white silk dress with an expensive cream-colored pantsuit, her hair pulled back into a sleek, severe ponytail. Her eyes were hidden behind dark designer sunglasses until she stepped into the room and pushed them onto her head.
She looked confident. But David noticed the way her fingers fidgeted with the strap of her handbag.
“Look at you, Dave,” Marcus said, pulling out a leather executive chair across from David and sitting down. He propped his polished shoes onto the edge of the table. “Right on time. I like seeing you obedient. It’s a good look for a retired man.”
Sarah pulled out the chair next to Marcus, crossing her legs and looking down her nose at David.
“Where’s Leo?” Sarah asked, her voice laced with mock sympathy. “Did you leave him with a sitter, or did you finally have the good sense to check him into a psychiatric clinic?”
David didn’t answer. He didn’t blink. He just stared at his younger brother.
Marcus unzipped his briefcase and pulled out a stack of paper. He slid it across the table toward David.
“Here’s the deal,” Marcus said, tapping the papers with a gold pen. “This is a full voluntary resignation from the board and an executive release of all corporate voting shares to me. In exchange, Sarah and I will drop the formal declaration of mental incompetence. We won’t file the medical proxy with the state licensing board, which means you get to keep your name off the public registry of incapacitated adults.”
“And the severance?” David asked quietly.
“Two hundred and fifty thousand a year, paid quarterly from a secondary trust,” Marcus replied with a cold grin. “Contingent on a strict non-disclosure agreement. You don’t speak to the board. You don’t speak to our investors. You take your kid, you buy a quiet little house somewhere out in Indiana, and you disappear.”
“You think of everything, don’t you?” David said.
“I have to,” Marcus leaned in, his smile vanishing, replaced by hard, sharp ambition. “You’ve been running this place like a family charity for ten years, Dave. You’re too soft. You won’t make the tough cuts. You won’t move operations offshore. Sarah and I are taking this company to the national market. We don’t have room for dead weight.”
“And you, Sarah?” David turned his eyes to his wife. “Four years. Was any of it real?”
Sarah rolled her eyes and gave a quiet, exasperated laugh. “Oh, please, David. Don’t be pathetic. You were an easy mark. A grieving widower with a traumatized little boy who needed a mother. You gave me an unlimited black card and a mansion, but you were boring. You spent every weekend doing inventory and looking over balance sheets while Marcus actually understood what this life could be.”
“I see,” David said.
“Enough reminiscing,” Marcus snapped, tapping the table. “Where is the original blue deed transfer? The one Leo soaked last night.”
David reached into his manila folder. He pulled out the wrinkled, water-stained blue document with the torn edges and laid it flat in the center of the table.
Marcus’s eyes lit up with raw greed. He reached out to snatch it.
David placed his palm firmly over the center of the paper, pinning it down.
“Before you take this,” David said, “I want to understand how you planned to execute it. The signature on this deed is three years old. But the notary stamp on the final page was dated yesterday.”
Marcus scoffed. “Who cares? It has the state seal on it. It’s legally active.”
“Jessica Trent’s seal,” David continued smoothly. “Your personal assistant. Did she notarize my signature in person, Marcus? Because under Illinois state law, notarizing a signature without the signatory physically present is a Class A misdemeanor, and using that notarized document to fraudulently transfer commercial real estate carries a mandatory five-year federal prison sentence.”
Marcus laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Good luck proving it, Dave. Jessica will testify that you walked into her office yesterday at noon and signed it right in front of her. Who is the board going to believe? An unhinged man whose eight-year-old son attacked his wife at an anniversary party, or the Vice President and his trusted assistant?”
“Let’s ask her,” David said.
David pressed a button on the conference room console.
The side door to the executive suite clicked open.
Robert, David’s chief legal counsel, walked into the room. Behind him walked Jessica Trent.
Jessica’s face was completely pale. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she was clutching a folder to her chest with both hands.
Marcus shot out of his chair, his jaw dropping. “Jessica? What the hell are you doing in here? Get back to your desk!”
“Sit down, Marcus,” Robert said in a booming, authoritative voice. “Jessica has spent the last two hours giving a sworn deposition to the Cook County State’s Attorney’s financial crimes division.”
Sarah’s head snapped toward Marcus, panic suddenly flaring behind her eyes. “Marcus… what is he talking about?”
“She’s lying!” Marcus barked, his face flushing crimson. “Jessica, shut your mouth and walk out that door right now or you’re fired!”
“I already resigned, Mr. Vance,” Jessica whispered, her voice trembling. “I gave them the text messages. The ones where you told me you’d fire me and ruin my career if I didn’t stamp the back of Mr. David Vance’s old corporate deed with yesterday’s date.”
Marcus lunged around the table toward Jessica, his fists clenched. “You stupid little—”
“Step back, Marcus,” David said, his voice echoing with absolute authority.
Marcus froze. He looked at David, then at Robert, then back at Sarah.
