Chapter 12 - The Boardroom Battle
The conference room on the 50th floor of Ashby Tower smelled of expensive leather and stale coffee. James sat at the head of the table, his posture rigid. Across from him sat Marcus Ashby, surrounded by a team of aggressive, sharp-suited lawyers.
"The numbers don't lie, James," Marcus sneered, tossing a thick folder onto the glass table. "You've funneled over forty percent of the company's liquid assets into these 'social safety nets.' The shareholders are furious. We are filing for an emergency injunction to remove you as Chairman on the grounds of cognitive incompetence following your near-death experience last year."
The board members shifted uncomfortably. James looked at them, remembering the days when he, too, cared only for profit margins. But dying changes a man. Looking into the eyes of two little girls who saved you when the world ignored you changes a man.
"Every dollar spent has stabilized the community housing markets, Marcus," James replied, his voice echoing with authority. "A stable city means a stable workforce. Profits are up six percent this quarter."
"But they could be up twenty percent if we tore down Kellerman Square and built the luxury high-rises I proposed!" Marcus snapped, leaning forward. "You've gone soft. You're letting sentimentality ruin this family's legacy."
Marcus signaled his lead attorney, who brought up a slide on the projector screen. It was a medical report—James's confidential psychiatric evaluation from the hospital after his collapse.
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"We have proof you are suffering from severe PTSD and auditory hallucinations, James. You claim to hear Eleanor's voice. You are unfit to lead."
James felt the room spin. Marcus had bribed his doctors. The drama was no longer just about money; it was a character assassination designed to strip him of everything, including his guardianship rights over the twins' future security.
