Chapter 62 Fracture
Lawrence was more than excited; he was electric. Finally, the first real step toward reclaiming the power he had once held. For months, he had combed through the company's power structure, traced every decision channel, every quiet shareholder no one paid attention to. Getting the Americans on his side had been the breakthrough. A game changer.
Melbourne might hold the title of headquarters, but the U.S. branch was a stronghold in its own right. Max Sinclair had designed the company like a hydra with many arms, layers of holding firms and shell operations but only two heads ever made the decisions: Melbourne and the U.S.
And the U.S. branch? It didn't just carry weight in meetings. It managed most of the Sinclair subsidiaries and franchises the smaller but highly profitable operations that flooded in cash year-round. Forty percent of Sinclair's main income flowed directly through that one arm.
Lawrence smiled to himself. If Melbourne voted in his favor today, and the U.S. shareholders kept their line, it would be more than enough to push Ethan out at least temporarily.
And that was all he needed. One crack in the armor.
Ethan hadn't moved. He still sat exactly as he had fifteen minutes ago, his posture straight, hands still, expression unreadable. The tension was thick.
The doors opened quietly.
Hugo stepped in, his jaw tight with frustration. He crossed the room, lowering his voice once he reached Ethan's side.
"This is a setup," he muttered, barely restraining the annoyance in his tone. "You know it. They've staged everything."
Ethan didn't respond. His eyes remained fixed ahead.
Hugo exhaled sharply, glancing around the room as if the walls themselves might be listening.
"how did they get all three of the U.S. major shareholders to side with them?" He exhaled, agitated. "This puts us in a very tight spot."
Still, nothing from him.
"We can't let the vote go forward," Hugo pressed, voice lower now, almost pleading. "If they vote, you'll be suspended. You know that. We have to stop it. Somehow. We can't just sit here."
For a moment, Ethan stayed still. Then, finally, he turned his head to look at Hugo.
"We can't stop it," he said quietly. "Let's just... hope for the best."
He stood, straightened his jacket, and walked out without another word.
Hugo stared after him, disbelief darkening his face.
"Hope for the best?" he echoed under his breath, almost scoffing. "That's your plan?"
But Ethan was already gone.
The recess was short.
Within minutes, the boardroom was once again full tension thick in the air, the kind that made every breath feel too loud. Everyone was seated, their expressions stiff, guarded. No one looked at Ethan directly.
A sleek ballot box now sat at the center of the long table, with a stack of voting cards beside it. This was the system simple in design, brutal in consequence. Each card would reflect a vote: either in support of Ethan Sinclair... or for his suspension. But it wasn't about how many cards were cast. It was about how much power each card held.
Every shareholder's vote was weighted by their percentage of ownership.
The higher the stake, the louder the voice.
The chairman rose. His voice was formal.
"We'll begin the vote now."
He picked up the first card, marked it, and dropped it into the box.
One by one, they followed some silent, some hesitating, a few casting sideways glances at Ethan.
The small digital screen beside the ballot box showed each vote as it was cast, not by name, but by share percentage.
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 5%
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 10%
Support Ethan Sinclair - 3%
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 2%
Support Ethan Sinclair - 7%
The room stayed quiet, but the tally grew loud in everyone's mind.
And then came the heavyweights.
Jack stepped forward. He slipped in his card.
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 20%
Next was Marcus.
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 15%
The screen calculated everything automatically.
Final tally:
Suspend Ethan Sinclair - 60%
Support Ethan Sinclair - 40%
The chairman glanced across the table.
"With sixty percent of the company's voting shares in favor of suspension, the motion is carried."
Lawrence didn't celebrate. Not openly, but the smallest smile touched the corner of his mouth.
Across the table, Ethan sat still with no reaction, Just the same calm, unreadable gaze.
The room echoed with the chairman's voice.
"With sixty percent of the company's voting shares in favor, Ethan Sinclair is hereby suspended indefinitely pending further review."
There was a moment of silence, the kind that settles like dust after a controlled demolition.
And then Ethan stood.
"Are we not missing a vote?" Ethan asked quietly, his voice slicing through the stillness.
The board turned.
The chairman blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I thought there were three major shareholders," Ethan said, his voice calm as he rose from his seat. "But only two are present."
A few heads turned. The room grew still.
Lawrence almost burst into laughter.
Oh, so he did care.
Ethan had spent the whole day pretending to be unbothered, playing the part of the unshakable CEO. But now he was reaching. Trying to delay the inevitable.
The desperation was subtle but Lawrence saw it. He savored it.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, smug.
Too bad for you, Ethan, he thought.
Even Perry's with us. He hasn't voted yet, but when he does... it'll only make your fall more embarrassing.
Let the man throw in his last punches. None of it would matter.
They had no choice but to put Perry on a Zoom call live and direct, in front of everyone, so he could cast his vote in real time.
The Zoom call was set up, the final vote hanging in limbo.
It rang once.
No reply.
The boardroom held its breath.
It rang again.
Then a man appeared on screen young and wellcomposed.
"Good afternoon, sir," he said crisply. "Please hold. I'll put Mr. Perry on the line."
But before anyone could react, the boardroom doors opened.
A sharply dressed young man strode in, holding an iPad.
Every head turned.
The interruption was jarring, unannounced, and strangely timed.
He didn't hesitate. He walked past the table of stunned executives and headed straight for Ethan.
"Sir," he said, handing him the device, "you have an urgent call."
Ethan took it calmly.
Just then, the Zoom screen on the main display flickered to life.
A live feed appeared same background, same connection.
Ethan adjusted the camera on the iPad and looked up, his tone unreadable.
"Good afternoon," he said smoothly. "How can I help you?"
The silence was immediate. And absolute, Confusion rippled across the table.
A few exchanged glances. Others stared in disbelief.
Ethan was Perry?
That couldn't be right. That had to be a joke. A bluff. A distraction.
But... no one had ever seen Perry Hensley in person.
He was always a voice. A name, with no face on it.
"What's going on?" the chairman asked, his voice cracking with disbelief.
"Mr. Perry would like to cast his vote," Ethan said.
The chairman blinked. "Are you... are you Mr. Perry?"
Ethan didn't flinch.
"Perry Hensley is one of this company's oldest and most significant shareholding entities. My grandfather created him alongside a web of other legacy accounts to ensure that the Sinclair family always held majority control.
No matter how many shares were sold, or how many names came and went... the weight stayed with us."
The room turned cold.
Lawrence froze. The blood drained from his face.