Chapter 7 - The Emergency Summons
The digital clock on the bedside table ticked toward eleven-fifteen. The quiet of Room 402 was broken only by the steady rhythm of the heart monitor and the low hum of the city traffic rising from ten stories below. We had spent the last hour reviewing the corporate bylaws and the hospital's administrative structure, mapping out every legal vulnerability Sterling Kane could exploit during the noon board session.
Then came the sharp rap against the frosted glass of the door.
Before either of us could speak, a young courier in a gray courier uniform pushed the door open, stepping inside with the nervous energy of someone who knew he was treading on dangerous ground. He clutched a heavy, cream-colored manila envelope sealed with red wax—the unmistakable crest of Kane Industries' general counsel.
"Delivery for... Mr. Everett Kane, or designated proxy," the courier stammered, his eyes darting from Everett in the bed to me standing beside the IV pole. He didn't wait for permission; he laid the envelope squarely on the rolling tray table and retreated toward the door with an apologetic nod, pulling it shut behind him.
I stepped forward and broke the wax seal, sliding out a thick stack of heavy cardstock papers. My eyes scanned the bold black print at the top of the first page: *Notice of Extraordinary General Meeting and Executive Vote of No Confidence.*
"Sterling didn't wait," I said aloud, my voice dropping an octave as I read down the clauses. "He's calling an emergency session right now. The agenda lists a motion to declare you permanently incapacitated under Section 8-B, which would strip your voting shares and transfer absolute operational control to him permanently."
Everett reached out, his fingers tapping against the edge of the tray table. The color had returned to his face, but the lingering weakness from the poisoning or whatever sedative Sterling had administered before the wedding still kept him anchored to the bed. He couldn't walk into the Kane Industries tower on the other side of downtown without collapsing.
"He's moving too fast," Everett said, his voice hard with concentration. "He thinks I'm still unconscious. He thinks he can push it through before the forensic auditors finish reviewing the Q3 ledgers."
He looked up at me, his gray eyes locking onto mine with an unyielding certainty.
"He forgot about the wedding contract, Willa. By law, as my legally wedded spouse, you hold the constitutional right to be seated as my official voting proxy in any extraordinary corporate proceeding when I am physically unable to attend."
I stared at him, the weight of the moment settling squarely onto my shoulders. The transition from a terrified woman hiding in a chapel aisle to a corporate proxy sitting across from a room of ruthless executives was terrifying. But looking at Everett—at the fierce, unwavering trust in his eyes—the fear gave way to a cold, steady resolve.
"Give me the proxy assignment form," I said, reaching for the pen on the bedside tray.
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Everett picked up the fountain pen with steady fingers, signing his name at the bottom of the legal authorization document with a bold, slashing stroke. He handed the pen to me. I signed my name beneath his—*Willa Hayes-Kane*—and sealed the paper inside a leather folder.
"Go down there," Everett whispered as I straightened my collar. "Walk into that boardroom like you own the building. Because by the time you sit down in my chair, you do."
