Chapter 4 - The War in the Boardroom
The fallout from the live press conference was immediate and explosive.
By noon, the image of Brian Winston holding Ivy Austin’s hand on stage was plastered across every major news website, trending number one globally. Wall Street went into a frenzy. The Winston Corporation stock fluctuated wildly before surging up four percent—the public captivated by the fairy-tale story of the secret billionaire heirs and their fierce, beautiful mother.
Inside the glass-walled boardroom on the top floor of Winston Tower, however, a very different story was unfolding.
Twelve elderly men and women in dark, tailored suits sat around a thirty-foot conference table made of polished mahogany. These were the members of the Board of Directors—men who controlled billions in hedge funds and institutional capital.
At the head of the table sat Arthur Pendelton, the senior board chairman and a lifelong ally of Eleanor Rockefeller Winston.
At the opposite end sat Brian. Ivy sat beside him, dressed in a sharp ivory suit that Clara had selected for her. Daniel and Ava were in the adjoining private playroom under the watchful eyes of Harrison and two child-care specialists.
Eleanor sat near the middle, her face tight, her hands folded over a leather folder.
"This is an absurdity, Brian!" Arthur Pendelton slammed his hand onto the table. "You brought an untrained, uneducated woman into the executive structure of a forty-billion-dollar enterprise! The board cannot approve her appointment as Director of the Foundation!"
"The Foundation is a private family trust, Arthur," Brian said coldly, sipping his water. "It does not require board approval. I hold fifty-one percent of the voting shares. My decision is final."
"She was a hotel maid three days ago!" another board member shouted. "Her sister is currently under arrest for extortion and child endangerment! The public circus surrounding her family will destroy our corporate brand!"
Ivy sat up straight. She felt the heavy, condescending glares of twelve ultra-wealthy elites bearing down on her like lead weights. For years, people like this had looked right through her when she wiped down their hotel sinks or served their tea.
She placed her hands flat on the table.
"My sister," Ivy spoke up, her voice clear, firm, and ringing through the boardroom, "is a criminal who stole from me. I am the one who filed the formal report against her."
Arthur Pendelton sneered at her. "Speak when you are spoken to, young lady. You know nothing about corporate governance or foundation management."
Ivy leaned forward, her hazel eyes locking onto Arthur’s arrogant gaze with a fierce, cold intensity that caught everyone off guard.
"I know that the Winston Foundation spent twelve million dollars last year on 'administrative overhead' while allocating only two million to actual pediatric medical care in New York," Ivy said, her words sharp as flint. "I know that three of the community housing projects funded by this foundation in Queens have had broken heating systems for six months—because the contractor you hired is owned by your nephew, Mr. Pendelton."
Arthur’s face flushed a deep, ugly red. "What?! How dare you—"
"I spent six years living in those exact neighborhoods, Mr. Pendelton," Ivy continued, her voice rising with unstoppable authority. "I know where every dollar of charitable money is wasted because I lived on the receiving end of your failure. You think I don't know how to run a foundation? I know how to make a dollar feed a child. You don't even know how much a gallon of milk costs."
Brian sat back in his chair, a small, dark smile touching the corners of his lips. His silver eyes gleamed with undeniable pride as he watched Ivy single-handedly silence a room of hardened corporate sharks.
The board members looked at each other, stunned by her sharp intellect and fearless demeanor.
"She has a point, Arthur," one female board member murmured, adjusting her glasses as she looked at Ivy with newfound respect. "The Foundation's overhead numbers have been a PR vulnerability for two years."
Eleanor stood up slowly. Her presence instantly commanded the room.
"Enough," Eleanor said, looking at Ivy. "Miss Austin may have... passion. But passion does not equal loyalty to the Winston name."
Eleanor pulled a set of financial documents from her folder and slid them toward the center of the table.
"An hour ago, our legal team received a communication from Michelle Austin’s court-appointed attorney," Eleanor said, her voice dripping with poison. "Michelle claims that Ivy knew about Brian’s true identity seven years ago. She claims Ivy deliberately targeted Room 1402, knowing Brian was drugged, in order to secure a billionaire’s bloodline."
Ivy’s heart dropped into her stomach. "That is a lie!"
"Is it?" Eleanor challenged, her eyes narrowing. "You were working as a private contractor at the hotel. You had access to the VIP guest ledger. Can you prove you didn't look at the ledger that night, Miss Austin?"
The room went dead silent.
Ivy looked around the table. The suspicious glares of the board members had returned. They wanted to believe she was a scheming gold-digger; it fit their world view far better than the truth.
Ivy turned to look at Brian.
May you like
Brian was staring at her, his jaw set tight, his gray eyes unreadable.
"Ivy," Brian said quietly, his voice dangerously neutral. "Did you know who was in that room seven years ago?"
