Chapter 4 - The Monday Morning Massacre
By 8:00 AM on Monday, the glass towers of Sovereign Group’s global headquarters in downtown Boston were under a complete executive restructuring. The global stock markets had opened with a massive announcement: the reclusive founder and primary shareholder, Cassidy Hayes, was officially stepping into the light to assume the active role of Chief Executive Officer.
I sat in the massive, panoramic corner office on the 80th floor, wearing a tailored, navy blue maternity suit with sharp shoulders and a crisp white silk blouse. My hair was dried, styled into an elegant, professional twist, and my skin bore none of the exhaustion from the night before.
The massive glass boardroom table was lined with the senior vice presidents of every department. At the very end of the table sat Richard Morrison, Brendan’s father and the Senior Vice President of Global Logistics. He looked like a man who had spent the entire night staring into an open grave.
"Good morning, gentlemen," I said, my voice carrying perfectly through the high-definition audio arrays in the room. "As you are all aware, Protocol 7 was activated last night. This means Sovereign Group is clearing out all corporate deadwood, effective immediately."
Richard stood up, his hands pressing against the glass table to keep his balance. "Miss Hayes... sorry, Madam Chairwoman... my son's actions last night were deplorable. I had no knowledge of how my wife and son treated you in private. I have always respected your... your presence in our family."
"Save it, Richard," I said, sliding a thick, red leather folder across the polished surface. "At 4:00 AM today, our forensic accounting team discovered that you have been routing fifteen percent of our North Atlantic shipping contracts through a shell company owned by your brother-in-law in Panama. That isn't just a fireable offense. That’s a violation of the Racketeer Influenced and Corrupt Organizations Act."
Richard’s face went completely bloodless. He sank back into his leather chair, his jaw trembling.
"You have two options, Richard," I continued, leaning forward, my eyes locking onto his with the absolute authority of a sovereign. "You can sign a full confession and forfeit ninety percent of your vested stock options back to the corporate treasury to cover the losses, or I can have Marcus escort the FBI agents waiting in the lobby up to this floor right now."
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"I’ll sign," Richard whispered, his voice barely audible. "I’ll sign everything."
"Excellent," I said, turning to Arthur. "Terminate his contract. Revoke his security clearance, and make sure his corporate parking pass is deactivated before he reaches the garage. Let's move on to the marketing department."
