Chapter 7 - The Trap Springs
While Marlo was enduring the fires of physical rehabilitation in Astoria, the corporate boardrooms of Manhattan were erupting in chaos.
At Hastings Avionics headquarters, Preston Hollister strode into the executive conference room flanked by two corporate raiders and his lead legal counsel. He slammed a folder onto the long mahogany table where Richard Sterling and the remaining board members sat looking pale and cornered.
"The game is over, gentlemen," Preston announced with a triumphant smirk. "With your Westchester construction permits revoked, your adaptive mobility grants frozen, and three major defense contracts under federal investigation, Hastings Avionics is in technical default of its revolving credit facility."
Richard Sterling swallowed hard, clutching his pen like a lifeline. "Preston, we have grace periods under the bylaws—"
"Grace periods expired at midnight," Preston interrupted smoothly, pulling out a thick contract document and sliding it across the table. "Here are the terms of the emergency buyout. Hollister Defense will absorb Hastings Avionics at twenty cents on the dollar. Marlo Hastings will step down immediately as CEO due to 'health and medical reasons,' and we will assume full control of the defense grid patents."
The board members exchanged terrified glances. Twenty cents on the dollar meant total ruin. Generations of family legacy wiped out in a single stroke.
Just as the oldest board member reached trembling fingers toward the contract to sign, the heavy oak double doors of the conference room swung open with a loud bang.
Everyone turned.
Marlo Hastings rolled into the room.
She wasn't using a motorized chair today. She was in a standard, lightweight manual chair, her shoulders squared, her posture immaculate in a sharp houndstooth pantsuit. Her face bore no trace of weakness, exhaustion, or fear.
Behind her walked Calder Wynn, carrying a secure diplomatic briefcase, wearing a clean charcoal suit that fit his broad shoulders perfectly.
Preston Hollister’s triumphant smirk faltered for a fraction of a second. "Marlo. I thought you were home sick with the vapors."
Marlo rolled right up to the head of the table, stopping two feet from Preston. Her dark eyes burned with an icy, devastating brilliance.
"Sick? Never, Preston," Marlo said, her voice carrying crystal-clear across the silent room. "In fact, I’ve never felt more agile."
"You're in default, Marlo," Preston recovered quickly, sneering down at her. "Your board knows it. The banks know it. Sign the buyout or watch your father's empire get liquidated piece by piece by noon."
Marlo didn't blink. She reached out and tapped the contract with a single, manicured fingernail.
"Default?" she asked quietly. "Let’s talk about default, Preston."
She nodded to Calder.
Calder stepped forward, opening the diplomatic briefcase and placing three thick files onto the table right in front of Preston.
"What is this?" Preston frowned, flipping open the first file.
"That," Marlo said, her voice dropping into a razor-sharp whisper, "is a complete forensic audit of the municipal zoning board in Westchester, detailing exactly how much Hollister Defense bribed city officials to illegally revoke our construction permits."
Preston’s face lost its color. "That’s—that’s fabricated nonsense—"
"And that," Marlo continued, tapping the second file, "is the insider trading report tracking your personal brokerage accounts unloading short-position stock in our aerospace division forty-eight hours before your fake federal investigation was leaked."
Julian Vance stepped behind Preston, whispering frantically in his ear. "Preston, look at the signatures on the wire transfers... they're federal subpoenas."
"And finally," Marlo said, leaning forward in her chair, locking her eyes onto Preston’s sweating face, "that is a formal criminal referral delivered to the United States Department of Justice thirty minutes ago by my general counsel. You didn't bankrupt us, Preston. You walked right into a federal trap."
Silence descended over the boardroom so heavy that the ticking of the wall clock sounded like a drumbeat.
May you like
Preston stared at the papers, his hands trembling as the reality of his utter destruction settled over him. He looked up at Marlo, opening his mouth to speak, but no words came out.
"Get out of my building," Marlo said softly.
