Chapter 8
The morning sun broke over the city, casting bright, crisp light through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the Sterling family’s executive boardroom. The colors of the skyline were vivid and clear, free of any yellowing smog, matching the pristine, expensive aesthetics of the corporate suite.
Robert stood by the window, wearing a fresh sweater and tailored trousers, holding a cup of black coffee. Despite the early hour, his rosy skin was already flushed with agitation. Silas sat at the massive mahogany table behind him, a thick white bandage taped across the bridge of his swollen, broken nose, two spectacular black eyes blossoming across his fair face.
"Have the police picked him up yet?" Silas nasal voice whined, wincing as he tried to adjust his position in the leather chair. "I want him in handcuffs, Dad. I want him in a holding cell with the worst filth they can find."
"The police went to his apartment at dawn," Robert said, turning around with a scowl. "The place was empty. Stripped bare. The landlord said his lease was terminated a week ago."
"So he’s running," Silas sneered, a painful smirk pulling at his bruised lips. "Coward."
Before Robert could reply, the heavy glass doors of the boardroom burst open. Clara rushed in, her hair disheveled, her elegant heels clicking frantically against the marble floor. She wasn't wearing her usual immaculate makeup, and her face was deathly pale.
"Dad! Silas!" Clara gasped, clutching a tablet to her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. "Have you checked the accounts? Have you spoken to the bank?"
"What are you babbling about, Clara?" Robert barked, annoyed by the intrusion. "I don't have time for your hysterics, I'm trying to locate your brother."
"The accounts are frozen!" Clara screamed, her voice cracking in pure panic. "All of them! My personal trusts, the children's college funds, the corporate real estate lines! I tried to run my card for a coffee this morning and it was declined. I called the wealth manager, and he said the main holding company is in receivership!"
"That's impossible," Robert scoffed, though a cold knot began to form in his stomach. He marched over to the conference table and slammed his hand down on the intercom button. "Marcus! Get in here right now and tell me what the hell my daughter is talking about!"
The intercom buzzed with a flat, empty static.
"Marcus!" Robert yelled again.
"Marcus no longer works for you, Robert," a voice said from the doorway.
The three of them whipped around. Standing in the threshold was a man in a sharp, tailored suit—not Marcus, but the senior partner of the most ruthless corporate law firm in the city. He carried a thick leather briefcase, and his expression was completely devoid of sympathy.
May you like
"What is the meaning of this?" Robert demanded, his face turning an alarming shade of crimson. "Who authorized you to enter my building?"
"You don't own this building anymore, Robert," the lawyer said calmly, opening his briefcase and pulling out a stack of heavily stamped legal documents. "As of 6:00 AM this morning, Sterling Industries, along with all subsidiary trusts and personal equity portfolios, has been acquired in a hostile takeover by Apex Holdings."
