Chapter 46 The Boardroom Betrayal

Chapter 46 The Boardroom Betrayal


POV: Royce

I drove to Sterling Corp in silence.

Elizabeth sat beside me, her hand resting lightly on my arm, saying nothing. She understood that some moments required silence—not comfort. This was one of them.

The building I had walked into every day for fifteen years looked different now. The Sterling Corp logo above the entrance, the glass façade reflecting the pale morning sky—everything felt as if it already belonged to someone else.

In the lobby, Derek, the morning security guard who’d worked there for six years and always had a joke ready, looked at me with open sympathy.

“Mr. Sterling, sir. I’m sorry.”

Those two words told me everything.

I took the elevator to the executive floor, Elizabeth beside me. The hallway was quiet; most staff hadn’t arrived yet. But the boardroom lights were still on. Through the glass walls, I could see figures inside.

Gregory Walsh sat at the head of the table.

My chair.

The chair my father had occupied before me. And his father before him.

I pushed the door open. The remaining board members looked up. Some had the decency to appear ashamed. Others stared down at the table.

Gregory turned slowly. Silver-haired, composed, patrician. My father’s closest friend. My mentor for over a decade. The man who had taught me how to run a board meeting, how to read a room, how to lead.

“Royce,” he said evenly. “You should have come sooner.”

“The vote was called illegally,” I replied.

“The board has authority to convene emergency sessions when leadership is absent during a crisis. It’s in the charter.”

“I wasn’t absent by choice. My girlfriend was being held at gunpoint while someone tried to kill her sister.” I moved closer to the table, forcing my voice to remain controlled. “You knew that, Gregory. You knew exactly where I was and why.”

“The company needed decisive action.”

“The company needed its CEO.” I met his eyes. “Helen Morrison promised you a seat at her table. That’s what this cost. Your integrity. Your loyalty. For a seat at someone else’s table.”

His expression flickered, just briefly.

“Business is business, Royce.”

“No.” My voice cracked before I could stop it. “This was personal. We were family. You were my father’s best friend. You stood beside me at his funeral. You told me he’d be proud of what I built.” I swallowed. “Was any of it real? Or was I just an opportunity waiting to be exploited?”

The silence that followed was devastating.

Gregory stood, smoothing his jacket.

“You have one hour to clear your personal belongings and surrender your access cards and passwords,” he said professionally. “Security will escort you out at eight thirty.”

“Gregory,” Elizabeth stepped forward, her voice quiet but firm. “Look at him. Look at what you’re doing to someone who trusts you completely.”

“Miss Wakefield, this isn’t personal.”

“It’s entirely personal,” she said. “And you’ll have to live with that.”

Gregory walked out without another word.

I stood in that room for a long moment, looking at the table where I’d negotiated billion-dollar deals. The windows overlooking the city I had helped shape. The place where I had built everything.

“Come on,” Elizabeth said gently. “Let’s get your things.”

My office was exactly as I had left it. Files neatly stacked. Photos arranged on the credenza. The architectural sketches I’d drawn in college framed on the wall—reminders of who I’d been before the company consumed me.

Elizabeth found a box and began helping me pack. She wrapped fragile items carefully, handed me personal photos, moved with quiet efficiency.

My phone rang.

Catherine Park, my lawyer.

“Tell me something good, Catherine.”

“Actually, yes,” she said, her voice controlled but energized. “I’ve been reviewing the emergency session protocols. Gregory made a significant error. The charter requires forty-eight hours’ notice to all board members unless the company faces immediate insolvency. Three members received less than twenty hours’ notice.”

I stopped packing.

“The vote is invalid.”

“Technically, yes. The notification protocol was violated. If we file today, we can get an injunction blocking the transfer of authority.”

“For how long?”

“Forty-eight hours. After that, they can reconvene properly and vote again.”

“Forty-eight hours,” I repeated.

“You need to give them a reason to vote differently,” Catherine continued. “Destroy Helen Morrison’s credibility completely. Right now, she looks strong. You look compromised. Change that equation.”

“I’ll send the paperwork within the hour.”

“Already drafting. Talk soon.”

I ended the call and looked at Elizabeth.

“Forty-eight hours,” I said. “We have forty-eight hours to destroy Helen’s credibility before they can legally reconvene.”

“Patricia Chambers is cooperating with federal investigators,” Elizabeth replied immediately. “Her testimony, Hendricks’s documentation, the recording from my meeting with Helen—it’s enough to prosecute.”

“Prosecution takes time. We need something immediate. Public. Something that makes those seven board members realize they backed the wrong person.”

Elizabeth went quiet, thinking.

“Helen’s investors,” she said slowly. “Donald Crane and his group. They withdrew financial backing after hearing the recordings, but they still hold stock positions. They can stabilize or destabilize the takeover.”

“If we reach Crane before Helen does…”

“We bring him evidence he hasn’t seen.” Elizabeth began pacing. “Patricia said Helen kept separate records on every investor—who she bribed, who she manipulated, who she has leverage over. If we get those records…”

“Helen would store them securely. Encrypted. Off-site.”

“Not necessarily. She left Patricia behind at the warehouse. Patricia knows where everything is stored.”

“Patricia’s in federal custody.”

“With immunity negotiations ongoing,” Elizabeth countered. “If we ask the right questions through the right channels, she might tell us where those records are before Helen destroys them. And if we show Crane proof that Helen manipulated him too, he’ll pull support. Without financial backing, the takeover collapses. And without the takeover, those board members have no reason to keep their vote against you.”

It was a strong plan. Clean. Strategic. Achievable within forty-eight hours.

Then Elizabeth’s expression shifted.

“There’s another option,” she said carefully.

I looked at her. “What?”

“Helen knows you. She knows me. She knows Marcus. But there’s one person she’s never met face to face. Someone who understands Sterling’s internal structure. Someone Crane’s group would recognize as an insider.”

“Who?”

Elizabeth held my gaze.

“I know how to do it,” she said. “But I’ll need to become someone I’m not.”

A pause.

“I’ll need to become Jessica.”

The words settled heavily in the quiet office.

“Elizabeth…”

“Jessica understands that world,” she continued steadily. “Crane’s group knows she was involved from the inside. If I approach them as Jessica—an insider turning on Helen, offering records and testimony—they’ll listen in a way they never would to me.”

My sister lay in a hospital bed recovering from an attempted murder.

And Elizabeth was proposing to walk back into danger wearing her identity.

“Your sister is barely alive,” I said quietly.

“I know.” She picked up the last item from my desk, her movements calm. “Which is exactly why I have to do this.”

The office door opened.

“Mr. Sterling,” the security guard said politely. “It’s eight thirty.”

I looked around one final time. The view. The sketches. Fifteen years of my life built into these walls.

“Let’s go,” I said.

We walked out together.

And as the elevator descended—carrying me away from everything I had built—Elizabeth was already planning how to take it back.

Even if it meant becoming someone else entirely.