Chapter 59: Shifting the Board Victor POV

I paced my office, my shoes clicking against the polished hardwood, my hands clasped behind my back. The desk was a mess—papers scattered, a coffee mug tipped over, the dark stain seeping into a stack of reports. I grabbed a napkin from the drawer, wiping up the spill with quick swipes, tossing it into the trash with a flick of my wrist.

"Too damn much coming at me," I muttered, picking up my phone, scrolling through the latest headlines—Sinclair Global Under Siege. I slammed it down, the screen rattling against the wood, my fingers drumming a restless beat.

I needed a move, something big to throw them off. I sat down, pulling a notepad closer, scribbling—Acquisition: Argus Corp. "That’ll shake things up," I said aloud, tapping the pen on the page. I grabbed my laptop, opening a spreadsheet, my eyes scanning profit margins and stock prices. "Tie Ethan’s mess to ours—divert the spotlight."

I dialed Morris, my lawyer, pacing again as the line rang. "Morris, it’s Victor," I said when he picked up, kicking a stray paperclip across the room. "I want a plan to acquire Argus Corp. Push it hard—make it messy."

"Argus?" Morris asked, his voice cautious. "That’s bold, Victor. They’re already reeling—"

"Exactly," I cut in, snatching a glass from the shelf and pouring whiskey from the decanter, the liquid glugging out. "Their scandal’s my shield. Get the paperwork started."

"Could backfire," he warned, his pen scratching in the background. "The board might balk."

"Then convince them," I snapped, taking a sip, the burn steadying my nerves. "I’m not losing control here."

I hung up, setting the glass down with a clink, then grabbed my desk phone, punching in HR’s extension. "Lisa, it’s Victor. I need personnel files—everyone in management. Now."

"Yes, sir," she replied, her voice shaky as she shuffled papers on her end. "I’ll bring them up."

She arrived ten minutes later, her heels clicking as she carried a stack of folders, dropping them onto my desk with a thud. "Here they are, Mr. Sinclair."

"Good," I said, flipping open the top file—Richardson, head of ops. I skimmed his performance reviews, my pen circling a note about missed deadlines. "Him first," I muttered, tossing it into a pile on my left.

"Who’s that?" Lisa asked, hovering near the door, clutching her clipboard.

"Richardson," I replied, picking up another file—Carter, finance. "He’s out. Too many screw-ups lately."

She nodded, jotting it down. "Anyone else?"

I flipped through Carter’s file, my finger tracing a line about a late report. "Carter too. Can’t trust sloppy work." I tossed it onto the growing stack, grabbing the next—Ellis, marketing. "And Ellis—heard him whispering in the halls. Disloyal."

Lisa’s pen scratched faster. "That’s three today, sir. You sure?"

I glared at her, picking up my whiskey glass again, swirling it. "You questioning me?"

"No, sir," she said quickly, stepping back, her clipboard held like a shield. "I’ll draft the termination letters."

"Do it fast," I ordered, sipping the whiskey, the glass cool against my lips. "And send them out today—no delays."

She scurried out, the door clicking shut behind her. I stood, moving to the window, pushing the blinds aside with my fingers. A pigeon pecked at the ledge outside, oblivious to the storm brewing in here. "Cleaning house," I said to myself, setting the glass down and returning to my desk.

I pulled out my phone again, dialing PR. "Janet, it’s Victor," I said when she answered, grabbing a pen and doodling jagged lines on the notepad. "I need a press release—big acquisition in the works with Argus Corp. Spin it positive, bury the scandal chatter."

"Argus Corp?" she asked, her voice rising as she shuffled papers. "That’s risky—"

"Risky’s my game," I interrupted, tapping the pen harder, the ink bleeding into the page. "Make it sound like a power move—Sinclair saving Argus from their mess."

"I’ll draft it," she said, her tone reluctant. "But the media’s already circling—"

"Then outcircle them," I snapped, tossing the pen onto the desk, where it rolled into a paperclip pile. "Get it out by noon."

I hung up, leaning back in my chair, my hands rubbing my face, the stubble scratching my palms. "One step ahead," I muttered, grabbing a file from the disloyal pile, flipping it open—Peterson, logistics. I circled a note about him chatting with Vanessa too often, then tossed it aside.

I stood again, straightening my tie with a quick tug, then grabbed my coffee mug, refilling it from the pot in the corner, my hand steady this time. "Time to tighten the reins," I said, sipping the bitter brew, my eyes scanning the room for anything out of place.

I picked up the desk phone, dialing security. "Tom, it’s Victor," I said, pacing to the cabinet, pulling out a bottle of aspirin. "I want new keycards issued—only for those I approve. Lock down access."

"Sure thing, boss," Tom replied, his keyboard clacking. "Who’s on the list?"

"I’ll send it," I said, popping two aspirin into my mouth, swallowing them dry, grimacing at the taste. "And check the footage from the last week—anyone lingering near my office, report it."

I hung up, grabbing my notepad again, jotting names—loyal ones on one side, suspects on the other. My pen scratched faster as I added Vanessa’s name to the suspect list, my grip tightening. "Can’t trust her either," I muttered, circling her name twice.

I leaned forward, elbows on the desk, staring at the list. "Need to talk to her," I said, picking up the phone again, dialing her extension. "Vanessa, it’s me," I said when she picked up, my voice calm but edged. "Come to my office. We need to talk."