Chapter 67
Serena
The boardroom was exactly as intimidating as I'd imagined.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan, a table that could seat thirty comfortably, and chairs that probably cost more than my monthly salary. Everything was dark wood and leather and money that had been money for generations.
I walked in with my head high and my dying USB drive clutched in one hand, forcing myself not to show the panic clawing at my insides.
Lance sat at the head of the table, his expression carved from ice—professional, neutral, giving nothing away. But I caught the way his eyes tracked my entrance, the slight tension in his shoulders that suggested he knew something was wrong.
To his right sat the board members—seven men and two women, all in their fifties or older, all wearing suits that cost more than cars and expressions that suggested they'd rather be anywhere else. They looked at me with the flat, assessing gaze of predators sizing up prey.
To his left were the external experts—three art consultants I recognized from auction house catalogs, dressed more casually in blazers and turtlenecks, but with the same calculating eyes. They at least seemed mildly interested in what I was about to present.
And then there was Felix.
He sat two seats down from Lance, close enough to whisper but far enough to maintain deniability. That powder-pink suit should have looked ridiculous, but on him it just looked expensive and deliberate. His smile was warm, welcoming, absolutely venomous.
"Miss Vance!" He gestured to the presentation station set up at the far end of the table, complete with a massive screen and a laptop waiting for my USB drive. "Please, make yourself comfortable. We're all very eager to see what you've prepared."
I moved to the station on autopilot, plugging in the USB drive with fingers that wanted to shake but didn't dare. The screen flickered to life behind me.
"Well then," Lance said, his voice cutting through the room with perfect authority. "Now that we're all here, let's begin."
"Actually," Felix interrupted smoothly, his smile widening, "we're missing one person."
Several board members exchanged confused glances. One of them—a silver-haired man whose nameplate read "MORRISON"—frowned. "Who else did you invite, Felix? I thought this was just the acquisitions committee and the external consultants."
"Oh, it is." Felix's eyes glittered with barely concealed satisfaction. "But I thought it would be... educational... to have someone from the family's younger generation sit in. After all, they'll be inheriting this company someday. Shouldn't they learn how these decisions are made?"
As if on cue, the door opened.
Wesley walked in, and I barely recognized him.
Gone was the hungover, rumpled mess I'd seen so often. This version of Wesley stood straight, his eyes clear and focused in a way I'd never witnessed in three years together. He wore a navy suit that actually fit properly, his hair styled with care, his entire demeanor radiating a competence I'd never associated with him.
He bowed slightly to the room, his voice steady as he greeted each board member by name.
"Wesley?" Lance's voice carried a note of genuine confusion. "What are you doing here?"
Felix's smile turned predatory. "You're always saying he doesn't apply himself. That he lacks ambition and focus." He paused, letting the words sink in. "I thought this would be a perfect learning opportunity. After all, he is Arthur's oldest great-grandson. The future of this family. Surely he deserves to see how major acquisitions are evaluated?"
I watched Lance's expression shift—surprise giving way to something darker, more guarded. "I never said—"
"Besides," Felix continued, steamrolling over Lance's protest, "Arthur specifically requested that Wesley start taking more active interest in company operations. This seemed like the perfect opportunity."
The air in the room had changed. What had been a standard board presentation now felt like a battlefield, with invisible lines drawn and weapons concealed beneath pleasant smiles.
Lance's jaw tightened fractionally, but he nodded. "Fine. Wesley, take a seat."
Wesley settled into a chair directly across from me, his eyes locking onto mine with an expression I'd never seen before. Confident. Almost pitying.
His lips moved soundlessly, forming words meant only for me: You're fucked.
Rage flooded through me, hot and immediate. Every shred of sympathy I'd felt for him last night—that moment of recognizing his guilt, his shame—evaporated like water on hot steel.
It was him. The confirmation settled into my bones with absolute certainty. He stole my USB drive. He deleted my files. He's sitting there watching me walk into an ambush he created.
Felix clapped his hands together once, the sound sharp in the tense silence. "Wonderful! Now that we're all assembled, shall we begin? I'd hate to keep our esteemed consultants waiting—they do charge by the hour, after all."
His smile was all teeth as his gaze slid to me. "Miss Vance, whenever you're ready."
I turned to the screen, my hand moving to the laptop's keyboard. The presentation loaded with agonizing slowness, each file appearing on the screen for everyone to see.
Artwork entries. Catalog numbers. Basic provenance information.
And in every analysis field, every valuation box, every critical assessment section—nothing. Blank white space that screamed incompetence.
"Wait." Wesley's voice cut through the room, dripping with false confusion. "Uncle Lance, this is... completely blank. There's no analysis at all." He let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "No valuations, no market comparisons, nothing. Not a single goddamn thing."
He leaned forward, his expression shifting to something that almost looked like concern. "I have to say, I came here thinking I might actually learn something today. About due diligence, about proper analysis..." He trailed off, shaking his head with theatrical disappointment. "Turns out it's a complete waste of everyone's time."
All eyes in the room turned to me.
I stood there, frozen, feeling the weight of their judgment like a physical thing. Felix's satisfied smile. Wesley's false sympathy. The board members' growing irritation. The consultants' professional disappointment.
And Lance—
Lance was staring at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not anger. Not disappointment. Something sharper, more analytical, like he was watching a puzzle piece click into place.
"Miss Vance?" Felix's voice was silk over steel, each word precisely enunciated. "Would you care to explain why you've brought us here to look at... nothing? Or perhaps we should all acknowledge that Lance's judgment was compromised from the very beginning."