Chapter 4 - The Boardroom Execution
At 9:00 a.m. on Monday morning, the glass doors of the Vanguard Global boardroom in downtown Chicago opened to reveal the twenty-four members of the executive committee. They were men and women who controlled the shipping lanes of the Atlantic, the rail networks of the Midwest, and the real estate trusts of Manhattan.
And at the head of the mahogany table, sitting in the high-backed leather chair that had remained empty for five years, was me.
I wore a dark gray Chanel maternity suit, my hair styled in a sharp, professional bob, my skin pale but clear. On the table in front of me sat a silver pen and a glass of warm water. No ice.
Richard Morrison was led into the room by two Vanguard guards. He looked twenty years older than he had last week. His expensive silk suit was wrinkled, his tie missing, his eyes red and bloodshot from a night spent in a private holding room at the security tower.
"Cassidy," he gasped, his hands shaking as he reached for the back of a chair to steady himself. "Cassidy, please. My son is an idiot. You know he’s an idiot. He doesn't know anything about business. He didn't know who you were—Diane is an old, bitter woman—"
"Sit down, Richard," I said, my voice cutting through his panic like a scalpel.
He dropped into the chair as if his legs had turned to water.
"For three years," I said, leaning forward, my hands flat on the mahogany table, "I sat in the back of your family dinners. I listened to you talk about the 'lazy clerks' who were ruining the company. I listened to Diane tell me that my mother’s family was nothing but white trash from the coal country. I watched you sign off on the three-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus for Brendan while he was spending his afternoons in the downtown hotels with Jessica."
"I didn't know," Richard whispered. "The trust—it was handled by the Swiss attorneys—"
"The Swiss attorneys work for me, Richard," I said. "Every dollar that entered your logistics account was a dollar I allowed you to have. I kept your company alive because I believed that a child should have a grandfather who possessed a shred of dignity. But last night, your wife poured a bucket of near-freezing water over a pregnant woman’s head while your son laughed."
I slid a single sheet of paper across the table toward him.
"This is the immediate liquidation agreement for Morrison Logistics," I said. "You will surrender all shares in Vanguard Global. You will surrender the title to the Greenwich estate, the townhouses in Miami, and the rights to the family foundation. In return, I will instruct Arthur not to file the criminal embezzlement charges regarding the New York warehouse accounts with the federal prosecutor."
Richard looked at the paper, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "If I sign this... we have nothing. We’re broke, Cassidy. The family name—"
"The family name belongs to the state of Illinois now, Richard," I said, checking my watch. "It’s 9:15. You have four minutes before the grand jury receives the data logs from the New York servers. Sign the paper, or your next dinner will be served through a steel slot in a federal penitentiary."
His hand shook so violently the silver pen clattered against the wood twice before he could grip it. He signed his name in a ragged, broken scrawl that looked like a dying man’s last line.
"Get him out of here," I told the guards.
As they led him away, the door opened again, and Brendan walked in. He was wearing the same clothes from last night, his shirt stained with the wine he had spilled, his face wild and greasy. He had eluded the security team at the front entrance by using the service stairs.
"Cassidy!" he shouted, lunging toward the table before Director Vance caught him by the shoulder, twisting his arm back with a smooth, effortless pressure that made Brendan drop to his knees. "Cassidy! Talk to me! You can't do this! My mother is in the hospital! Her blood pressure—"
"Your mother should have checked the temperature of the water before she poured it, Brendan," I said, looking down at him from my high-backed chair.
"You're my wife!" he screamed, his eyes filled with a mixture of terror and realization. "We’re having a baby! You can't ruin my life for a mistake! I love you, Cassidy—I’ve always loved you—"
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"You loved the assistant clerk who didn't say a word when you forgot her birthday," I said, standing up slowly, my hand resting on my stomach. "You loved the girl who cleaned your shoes when you came home drunk from the country club. But that girl died last night at 11:42 p.m. In the snow. Behind your house."
I looked at Director Vance. "Take him to the basement, Christopher. Give him twenty dollars for a cab. And tell him that if he enters this building again, the security team is authorized to use maximum force."
