Chapter 2 - The Boardroom Trap
The mahogany conference table on the top floor of Duca Global was wide enough to keep enemies from lunging at each other, but not wide enough to hide their intentions.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, the Manhattan skyline shimmered under a pale, gray morning fog. Inside, twenty-two board members sat in suffocating silence, their eyes fixed on the black wheelchair positioned at the head of the table.
Lorenzo sat motionless. His dark sunglasses masked his gaze, but behind them, his eyes tracked every nervous twitch, every averted glance, every silent calculation in the room.
Standing directly behind the wheelchair was Matteo, his hand resting casually on the leather handle as if he were pushing a toddler’s stroller. To Matteo’s right stood Isabella Rossi, dressed in a pristine Chanel suit that matched the ice in her eyes. Her fingers rested on a leather-bound folder containing the corporate transfer documents.
"Gentlemen," Matteo began, his voice ringing with practiced solemnity through the vaulted boardroom. "As you all know, my brother Lorenzo’s tragic accident six weeks ago left him physically incapacitated. While his mind remains sharp—or as sharp as can be expected given his trauma—the physical reality of his condition makes it impossible for him to execute his duties as CEO."
A murmur rippled through the table. Old Arthur Sterling, who had served under Lorenzo’s father, adjusted his glasses. "The bylaws state that a CEO can only be stripped of executive control through a unanimous board vote or a signed power of attorney executed under medical supervision."
"Which we have," Isabella interjected smoothly, stepping forward with a stack of papers. She didn't look at Lorenzo. She didn't dare. "Dr. Elias Vance certified yesterday that Lorenzo’s cognitive faculties are fluctuating, but that his legal proxy defaults to his next of kin and primary beneficiary in the event of catastrophic failure. That’s Matteo."
"And me," Isabella added with a soft, tragic smile, touching her diamond engagement ring. "As his future wife, I am here to ensure his legacy is protected."
Lorenzo tasted copper in his mouth. Future wife. She had spent six weeks visiting his bedside, weeping theatrical tears, while secretly meeting with Matteo in private wings of the estate to carve up his empire.
"Let him speak," a voice cut through the tension.
Everyone turned. Clara Bennett stood near the back corner of the room. She wasn't a board member; she was part of the estate staff, brought up to handle the digital projector and manage the medical equipment. Her face was pale, her hands clasped tightly in front of her gray uniform apron.
Isabella’s eyes flashed with instant fury. "What is the maid doing speaking in a board meeting? Security, remove her—"
"Wait," Matteo said, holding up a hand. His smile was razor-thin. "Let her speak, Isabella. Clara has been very... close to Lorenzo lately. Haven't you, Clara?"
Clara swallowed hard, her eyes darting to Lorenzo’s unmoving figure. "Mr. Duca... he communicates. With his eyes. He blinked twice this morning when I asked him if he wanted this meeting postponed. He doesn't want to sign."
A heavy hush fell over the room. All eyes shifted back to the wheelchair.
Matteo leaned down, bringing his mouth close to Lorenzo’s ear. His voice was a venomous hiss meant only for his brother. "You see how dirty things get, Lorenzo? You bring a maid and her bastard kid into your home, and suddenly they think they have a voice. Sign the paper. Or I swear to God, I’ll have Clara thrown out on the street with nothing, and that little girl of hers will spend the rest of her life in state custody."
Lorenzo’s blood turned to liquid nitrogen.
Every muscle in his body coiled like a steel spring. He wanted to stand up right now, grab Matteo by his expensive silk tie, and throw him through the reinforced glass window.
Not yet, a voice in his head whispered. If you move now, they survive. Make the house quiet. Let the rat think nobody is listening.
Matteo slid a golden Montblanc pen into Lorenzo’s rigid right hand. He wrapped Lorenzo’s fingers around it, forcing the barrel against his index finger.
"Sign it, brother," Matteo whispered, guiding his hand toward the signature line on the bottom of the document. "For the family."
Lorenzo’s hand hovered over the paper. The ink nib touched the cream-colored page.
The entire room held its collective breath. Arthur Sterling leaned forward, watching the pen tip with deep suspicion. Clara closed her eyes, her lips moving in silent prayer.
Lorenzo’s fingers twitched. He didn't write his name. Instead, he pressed the pen down so hard the nib snapped, the black ink bleeding across the page in an ugly, jagged scar that slashed right through the transfer clause.
Matteo jerked back, cursing under his breath. "What the hell—"
Before Matteo could grab the pen back, the heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung wide open with a deafening bang.
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A tall man in a tactical security uniform stepped inside, flanked by two armed federal marshals.
"Matteo Duca," the lead officer announced, holding up an arrest warrant that caught the harsh boardroom light. "You’re under arrest for corporate espionage, tampering with vital vehicle safety systems, and the attempted murder of Lorenzo Duca."
