By one-thirty that afternoon, the 35th floor of the Vance Tower was engulfed in complete pandemonium.
Employees hurried down the corridors clutching reams of financial reports, phones were ringing off their hooks, and the PR department had practically locked themselves in their office to avoid the barrage of calls from financial journalists. Rumors of a sudden, catastrophic liquidity crisis had already leaked to Bloomberg, and Vance Enterprises’ stock had tumbled twenty-two percent before trading was temporarily halted.
Everett sat at the head of the mahogany conference table, his tie loosened, his hair disheveled, and dark circles carving deep shadows under his eyes. Across from him, Carl Miller was sweating profusely through his blue dress shirt.
“The bridge loan is dead,” Carl said, dropping another folder onto the table. “Every major lender on the Street has shut their doors. They won’t even take my calls. They keep saying the risk profile changed overnight because our institutional guarantor walked away. Everett, who was backing us? You always told me we were funded by an offshore syndicate!”
“It doesn’t matter who was backing us!” Everett slammed his fist onto the table, rattling the crystal glasses. “What matters is we find alternative capital before the two o’clock deadline! What about Julian Montgomery? Did you reach his office?”
Carl looked up, a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Montgomery Capital? Yes. His chief of staff said Julian Montgomery himself agreed to attend our emergency board meeting today.”
Everett let out a long, ragged exhale, slumping back into his leather chair. A wave of arrogant relief washed over him.
Julian Montgomery was the holy grail of Wall Street. A reclusive billionaire who controlled global venture funds, logistics networks, and private sovereign wealth partnerships. If Montgomery was coming to this meeting, it meant he smelled an opportunity to acquire a discounted stake in Vance Enterprises.
“I knew it,” Everett laughed, running a hand through his hair. “The Street thinks they can break me? Montgomery knows my value. He knows what Vance Enterprises is worth. Once he injects fifty million dollars, Clara’s petty little legal games won’t mean a damn thing.”
The door to the boardroom opened, and Diane walked in, followed by Vanessa. Both women were impeccably dressed, though Diane’s face remained tight with lingering fury from the morning’s eviction.
“Everett,” Diane said sharply, “we’re staying at the St. Regis for now, but the bill is astronomical! Your corporate card was declined at the reception desk!”
“It’s a temporary glitch, Mother!” Everett snapped. “Sit down and keep quiet. Julian Montgomery is coming. When this meeting is over, we’ll have more capital than we started with. Vanessa, sit next to me. Let Montgomery see a unified front—a man with a real, growing family.”
Vanessa smiled sweetly, taking a seat beside Everett and smoothing her silk skirt over her stomach. “I knew you’d fix this, baby. Clara is just bitter. Once she sees that you don’t need her, she’ll crawl back and beg for whatever scraps you give her.”
At exactly one-fifty-five, the heavy mahogany double doors of the boardroom were pushed open by two private security personnel.
The board members who were seated around the table immediately stood up. Everett stood up as well, buttoning his jacket, pasting on his most charismatic, million-dollar smile.
A tall, striking man in his late thirties entered the room. Julian Montgomery was cut from granite—broad-shouldered, with sharp, aristocratic features and piercing blue eyes that radiated cold, predatory intelligence. He wore a bespoke charcoal three-piece suit that screamed old, unassailable power.
“Mr. Montgomery,” Everett said eagerly, extending his hand as he stepped around the table. “Thank you for coming on such short notice. As you know, Vance Enterprises is currently navigating a brief, manufactured liquidity dispute orchestrated by an emotionally unstable third party, but our underlying fundamentals—”
Julian Montgomery didn’t take Everett’s hand. He didn’t even look at it.
He simply walked right past Everett, pulling out the massive leather chair at the absolute head of the table—the chairman’s seat that Everett had occupied for seven years.
Everett’s hand remained hanging in mid-air. “Mr. Montgomery? That’s… that’s my seat.”
Julian sat down, leaned back, and rested his forearms on the table, fixing Everett with a look of mild, clinical amusement.
“Not anymore, Mr. Vance,” Julian said. His voice was deep, cultured, and resonant.
“Excuse me?” Everett stammered, his smile freezing. “I am the founder and Chief Executive Officer of Vance Enterprises. You are an invited guest to this emergency meeting.”
“Correction,” Julian said smoothly, opening a thin black leather portfolio. “I am the Managing Partner of Montgomery-Sterling Global Capital. And I am not here as an investor. I am here to introduce the new primary creditor, majority bondholder, and owner of eighty-two percent of Vance Enterprises’ senior secured debt.”