Chapter 12 - THE BOARDROOM PURGE
Julian Hayes sat in his ergonomic leather chair on the thirty-second floor of Hayes Technologies, staring at a stock ticker that looked like a jagged cliffside plunging into an abyss. The market had opened two hours ago, and Hayes Tech had already shed thirty-eight percent of its valuation. Rumors of the Starlight Ballroom incident had spread through Wall Street and Silicon Valley with the terrifying speed of a wildfire. Videos captured on discreet smartphones—showing Admiral Sterling’s thunderous rebuke and my silent, unyielding departure—were trending globally under the hashtag #HeelToHeel.
The heavy oak door of his private office banged open without a knock.
"Are you out of your absolute mind, Julian?" screamed Richard Vance, Senior Vice President of Vance Industries and the man who had bankrolled Julian’s entire artificial intelligence portfolio. Richard’s face was purple, veins bulging at his temples as he threw a thick manila folder onto the glass desk.
Julian flinched, shrinking back into his chair. "Richard! Let me explain. It was taken out of context. People love to sensationalize—"
"Sensationalize?" Richard roared, leaning over the desk so his face was inches from Julian's. "I was sitting at Table Four, you arrogant little fool! I watched you mock the woman who designed the guidance system that saved my son's battalion in the Helmand Province ten years ago! Do you have any idea who Elena Vance—no, Commander Vance—actually is?"
Julian’s blood ran cold. The color drained completely from his face. "Vance? But her name is... she’s just an engineer—"
"She is Admiral Sterling’s most decorated protégé, and her family name carries more weight in the defense sector than your entire pathetic lifetime of venture capitalism!" Richard snatched up his briefcase. "Our contract is terminated. The board is convening an emergency session in twenty minutes to vote on your immediate removal as CEO. Clear your desk, Julian. You’re done."
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As the door slammed shut, Julian sat in absolute silence, the hum of the air conditioner mocking his sudden, catastrophic irrelevance.
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