Arthur turned to face Kenji Sato, the representative for the Japanese sovereign wealth fund. "With the backing of our European colleagues, and assuming the support of our Asian partners, I move to initiate the immediate vote to revoke Mr. Duong’s special voting shares and reassign executive control to the Vance Oversight Committee."
Arthur raised his hand. "All those in favor?"
Six European board members immediately raised their hands. Arthur’s personal legal council recorded the votes rapidly.
"Seven," Arthur declared, leaning over the table toward Kenji Sato. "And Mr. Sato... your vote, please?"
Kenji Sato sat calmly, his hands folded neatly over his leather notebook. He looked at Arthur Vance with an unreadable, subtle smile.
"The Asian Sovereign Fund votes... against the motion," Sato said clearly, his English flawless.
Arthur froze. The smirk on his face shattered. "What?! Sato, you fool! We agreed yesterday! The maritime lease options—"
"The agreement was superseded three hours ago, Sir Arthur," Sato interrupted calmly. "Apex Horizon has granted our fund exclusive East Asian grid rights. We stand firmly behind Marcus Duong."
"You idiot!" Arthur barked, slamming his fist onto the mahogany table, losing his aristocratic composure entirely. "Even without you, I have forty-eight percent! I hold the senior debt notes! If I press for liquidation of the North American portfolio, this company will stall in litigation for five years!"
"I wouldn't count on that, Arthur."
The heavy, soundproof double doors at the back of the boardroom swung open with sudden, thunderous force.
The entire room turned instantly. The financial journalists instinctively raised their cameras, flashbulbs exploding in a rapid, blinding rhythm.
Marcus Duong walked into the boardroom.
He moved with absolute, predatory stillness. Behind him marched Harrison Vance and a team of four senior corporate attorneys carrying thick black leather briefcases.
The air in the room seemed to instantly thin out. Several board members stood up out of pure, reflexive respect.
"Marcus..." Arthur stammered, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson as he backed away from the head of the table. "You... you were supposed to be at Columbia Medical! Your flight wasn't scheduled to clear customs until—"
"My schedule is my own, Arthur," Marcus said smoothly, taking off his charcoal overcoat and handing it to Harrison Vance. He walked slowly down the length of the long mahogany table, his cold, piercing eyes locked onto the older man.
"You brought news cameras," Marcus noted, gesturing casually to the flashing lights. "You wanted the world to watch you take what I built. You wanted to execute a corporate coup while I was caring for my mother."
"This is business, Marcus!" Arthur spat, trying desperately to regain his footing, though his hand trembled as he set his scotch glass down. "Apex Horizon belongs to its institutional investors! You are a boy from a Vietnamese village who got lucky in the currency markets! You don't have the stomach for real power!"
Marcus stopped at the head of the table, standing right beside Arthur Vance’s chair. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't show an ounce of anger. He simply looked at Arthur as if he were looking at an insect on a windowpane.
"Harrison," Marcus said softly. "Execute Protocol Omega."
Harrison Vance stepped forward, opening his leather briefcase and pulling out a stack of heavy legal documents bound in red silk ribbon. He slammed them down onto the center of the boardroom table.
"Sir Arthur Vance," Harrison announced loudly, his voice echoing through the silent room and into the journalists' active microphones. "As of two minutes ago, Apex Horizon Capital executed the default clauses on the ninety-two billion dollars of senior debt notes held by Vance Holdings."
Arthur’s eyes went wide with sheer terror. "What?! That debt isn't due for three years!"
"It was due three years from now," Marcus corrected him quietly, "provided Vance Holdings maintained a minimum credit rating of AAA. Last night, following an audit of your offshore entities in the Cayman Islands, our forensic team uncovered three billion dollars in undisclosed margin loans used to fund your personal real estate acquisitions."
Marcus stepped closer to Arthur, leaning down so that his voice was audible only to the old man and the nearest microphones.
"We reported those loans to the Securities and Exchange Commission thirty minutes ago," Marcus whispered coldly. "The Federal Reserve has just downgraded Vance Holdings to junk status. Your debt is callable immediately."
Arthur’s legs gave out. He collapsed hard into his leather armchair, his face entirely drained of blood. "No... no, you can't... that will bankrupt my entire family tree..."
"Vance Holdings no longer exists, Arthur," Marcus said smoothly, pulling a sleek Montblanc fountain pen from his suit pocket and placing it on the table in front of the broken man. "You will sign over your voting shares to Apex Horizon right now to satisfy the debt call. Or you will be arrested by the Federal Marshals currently standing in the lobby on the ground floor."
The boardroom was dead silent. The flashbulbs of the cameras continued to pop frantically, capturing the iconic, historic image of the great Sir Arthur Vance utterly destroyed by the quiet, unyielding man standing over him.
Arthur looked up at Marcus, his lips trembling, his eyes filled with a terrifying mix of awe, hatred, and absolute defeat.
"You are a monster, Marcus," Arthur croaked, his hands shaking violently as his fingers reached out to touch the heavy gold pen.