Chapter 8 - The Boardroom Panic
Across the city, inside the top-floor executive boardroom of the Grandview Hotel, the crystal chandeliers cast a brilliant, merciless light over the polished mahogany table. Brooke Vance stood at the head of the room, her strapless burgundy evening gown replaced by a sharp, tailored black pantsuit that accentuated her rigid posture. Around her, three senior board members sat in stunned silence, their eyes fixed on the financial dashboard displayed on the massive wall-mounted monitor.
"Explain to me," Brooke said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, icy whisper, "how a routine asset consolidation order was suddenly overridden by an emergency federal probate freeze at twelve-thirty in the morning."
Julian Vance, pacing near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the rain-soaked downtown skyline, turned around with a dark frown etched across his face. "It wasn't a routine glitch, Brooke. Someone accessed the county mainframe using Ethan's original executive keycode. The system ping originated from the municipal annex archives."
"Ethan is paralyzed," one of the board members stammered, adjusting his silk tie nervously. "He's been confined to a wheelchair for months under strict medical supervision. He couldn't possibly—"
"He stood up," Brooke interrupted, her voice snapping like a whip across the table. Her fingernails dug into the polished wood surface as the memory of the ballroom flashed behind her eyes. "He stood up right in front of the banquet staff and walked out of the ballroom. And someone helped him. Security just pulled the lobby footage from the service elevators."
Julian stepped closer to the table, tossing a printed security still onto the mahogany surface. The photo was grainy, captured under the harsh fluorescent lights of the service corridor, but the faces were unmistakable. Ethan, walking with steady, purposeful strides, was flanked by a young woman in a black maid uniform with a white collar and apron—Isabella.
"Isabella Santos," Julian muttered, reading the name tag from the magnified frame. "She's a part-time banquet server living in a subsidized apartment off Fourth Street. Her employment file shows she's worked here for six months without incident."
Brooke stared down at the photograph, her face contorting with a mix of fury and bitter realization. "She didn't just help him escape. She's shielding him. If they reach the federal district court in the morning with those original deeds, our entire foundation restructure will be unraveled, and every asset we transferred will be flagged as fraudulent."
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"Security teams are already at her apartment," Julian said, checking his gold wristwatch with a sharp click. "They missed them by ten minutes. But our digital trackers picked up a secondary ping from the county records annex ten minutes ago."
Brooke straightened her jacket, her eyes flashing with cold, calculated resolve. "Find them. I don't care what it takes or who has to be discredited, but I want those documents back before sunrise. Call Officer Danvers and tell him the runaway patient has stolen sensitive corporate property."
